A Better Fate
by chezchuckles
Summary: "my blood approves, and kisses are a better fate than wisdom. . .And death i think is no parenthesis" -ee cummings co-authored by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles
1. Chapter 1

**A Better Fate**

* * *

since feeling is first  
_e.e. cummings_

since feeling is first  
who pays any attention  
to the syntax of things  
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool  
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,  
and kisses are a better fate  
than wisdom  
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry  
—the best gesture of my brain is less than  
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then  
laugh, leaning back in my arms  
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

* * *

**co-authored by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles**

* * *

Beckett is forced to her knees on the warehouse floor, the crack of her bones reverberating up her body and out into the cold air.

She opens her eyes, meets Castle's across from her. God, he looks terrified. It makes it hard not to panic.

The gun is snug against her ear, and the man in black behind her shoves at her with the barrel. Beckett winces, made off-balance by the push, and the blood stinging her eyes doesn't help either. Castle makes a noise and she glances up to see him leaning towards her, unable to go far, hands duct-taped behind his back.

There has to be a way out of this. Get the guy talking, get him distracted.

"You won't get away with this. There are cops on their way right now. You let us go and maybe the judge looks more favorably on you when it comes time for sentencing."

The man in black says nothing. Has said nothing this whole time. And that scares the shit out of her.

Methodical, uninterested in them, doing his job. Shit.

Shit.

She knew she was stepping out into the deep end; she knew she should've made Castle stay at home.

His eyes are on hers, telegraphing things she doesn't want to hear right now, things he shouldn't be saying because this is _not how it ends._

The man in black steps around Beckett and heads for Castle, only a few feet away, but entirely too far. She goes rigid when the man puts the gun to Castle's forehead, her heart pounding, her mouth dry.

"No." Oh God, he's not kidding around. She tugs at her bound hands, tries to get up. "Please. _Please_. Please don't-"

The gunshot deafens her.

"God - no!"

Castle's body drops heavily to the concrete.

She keens, gasping, sinking down, her forehead touching the ground as it swallows her up, the desolating, gaping nothing.

The gun is at her temple in the next instant; she struggles up. She will be upright when it comes, she will be-

Her eyes linger on his body, his face towards her, the sightlessness of his eyes.

This is how it ends.

_I'm so sorry. So sorry. If I could change things, Castle - God, I'd change everything._

The man pulls the trigger.

* * *

A rush of sound assaulted her; clamoring and crunching. A shove at her shoulder and she groaned, felt her body roll onto her back, but she couldn't move.

A hand checking for her pulse, the scurry of movement; shouts. Factory equipment. The rumble of a forklift. The beep of a truck backing up.

She opened her eyes and the world swam into focus, the warehouse ceiling above her, every light on, and then the shadow of a face.

"You okay?" it was yelling. "You okay? We called an ambulance, lady."

She struggled to orient herself. "I'm-" she licked her lips, tried again. "I'm a cop. Detective."

"Detective? Shit. What happened? Why are you passed out on our warehouse floor?"

Their floor? No, no, it was abandoned. It was - was it - there was nothing here, there was-

"Castle!"

"Naw, it's not a castle."

"My partner." She groaned as she raised up, her head pounding as she turned to look for his body-

Shelves. Full shelves. With product wrapped in plastic on pallets; the rumble of the forklift passing her, treads running right over where Castle should have been.

"No one else is here. You're the only person we found."

She sat up, everything swimming, slightly out of focus. "I was here with my partner. There was-" She shook her head, wincing, tried to think.

The guy was holding her by the shoulders, as if to keep her from moving. "Look, the ambulance will be here in a minute and you should just-"

"I gotta get - get out of here." Here? Where was here? Had the man in black dragged her body somewhere-

She lifted her hand to her temple in a jolt of awareness, but there was only smooth skin, her hairline, _no bullet wound._

What the hell?

* * *

She was in the ER, struggling to keep from freaking out, when she heard his voice down the hall.

Kate jerked her head up, heart pounding, confusion like a maelstrom in her body, swirling up her chest, her head pulsing with a strange and eager fear.

She saw him shot. She saw his blank eyes, the life gone-

"Beckett!"

She stared at him, mouth dry, as he came into the room, hands in fists at his sides.

"Ca-Castle," she croaked out, tears swimming up in her eyes.

"What happened to you?" he whispered. "I left you at the precinct. How'd you end up at that warehouse? Why are you _crying_?"

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. What was _real_ anymore? Things looked strange, the whole world seemed slightly faded, but he was _alive_. He was standing off by himself over there, but he was alive, vividly so.

"Castle," she gasped and wriggled her fingers at him to come closer.

"Beckett?" But he stopped at her bedside, took her hand with a slight squeeze.

She tugged him in and drew her arms around him. She could feel him stiffen in surprise, but she didn't let go. Yeah, she wasn't good at initiating but she needed his strength right now. She pressed her lips to his neck and breathed in. "Take me home."

She just - she needed home.

* * *

She kept her eyes closed while he drove, tried not to think. A fugue state, the doctor said, accounting for the strange memories. An order to see a neurologist when she could get an appointment. She rubbed at her chest and tried to calm down. Whatever it was - they'd figure this out, just like they had before.

He said he'd left her at the precinct? That just - it just didn't make any sense. They'd been on stakeout last night, nowhere near the precinct; they'd been chasing after the last of the conspiracy and why-

Okay, okay, obviously she was wrong. Her memories were - they must be faulty. More dreams. Or hallucinations? Had she been drugged?

God, it didn't make any sense. She _knew_ she'd been on that stakeout with him; against protocol, they'd been doing their own thing, a good lead on the organization behind her mother's murder and so she hadn't told Gates - shit, Gates was going to absolutely rain down hell on her for that, for doing that again - and Castle had come with her, not liking it, but-

But then they'd gone inside, following the guy, and someone had gotten the drop on them, and then-

And then Castle had been shot.

But Castle was right here beside her.

Kate slid her eyes open, just to check, the image of his blank eyes burned on her retinas, but no. No. Castle was parking his car right in front of-

"Why are we here?" she said, grunting as she looked at the building. "Castle-"

"You said to take you home. Look, I don't think you should be by yourself, Kate. Let me stay with you until - let me just - I mean you had some kind of episode and you shouldn't be alone."

She stared at him. "Why would I be alone? Why didn't you take me _home_, Castle?"

What the hell was he doing?

Castle's mouth dropped open. "What?"

She gestured to the building and rolled her eyes, discovered that the movement made her head pound. She squeezed the bridge of her nose, trying to breathe deeply. No concussion, the doctor said, but she seriously didn't feel good, and he was messing with her for some reason she couldn't fathom.

"Castle," she gritted out. "I can't handle whatever this is you're doing. Not right now. So just. Drive us home. I want to crawl into bed with you and not leave for a while."

"Beckett?"

She opened her eyes at the sound in his voice, the serious shock that laced his tone. His face was pale. "What?" Why did he look like she'd just rocked his world?

He blinked, his mouth opening and shutting. "This is your apartment. You - you don't remember that?"

She growled at him. "I _know_ I used to live here, before my apartment _blew up_. What the hell, Castle? Stop kidding around and take me home."

Castle rubbed a hand down his face, and when he finally looked at her, his eyes were wary and - and hurt?

"Blew up," he said dumbly, and then his face took on a look she couldn't identify.

He reached out suddenly and tugged at the rubber band in her hair, the one she'd borrowed from a nurse because she desperately needed a shower. He pulled the rubber band out and her hair spilled around her shoulders, limp and dirty with whatever the hell she'd done last night. She winced and scraped a hand through it, caught the way his eyes flashed - awed and overwhelmed.

Like he'd never seen her before.

His face drained of color, his mouth worked for a time before his voice scraped out. "Beckett. What happened to your hair?"

"_What?_"


	2. Chapter 2

**A Better Fate**

* * *

And then it hit her.

Her apartment.

Her hair.

And he looked - how could she not have noticed before? - he looked younger too, his face thinner, the line of the jaw a little sharper; the soft flesh that she loved to press her lips to, nibble at, had vanished.

Or perhaps it just...wasn't there yet.

No. It was crazy.

It was _impossible._

Kate felt herself sway, the mere concept too much for her; she was glad to be sitting. She felt Castle's hand at her elbow, strong but tentative, oh, so very tentative.

"Beckett?" he asked, and she couldn't resist. She leaned into him, her nose brushing his shoulder as she caught a whiff of his scent, had to close her eyes against the welling tears.

He was still, stiff against her.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself.

"Can you take me to your place?" she asked quietly, gritting her teeth against the sting of the words, how they denied everything she and Castle had made together. How far they'd come.

He nodded slowly, his eyes intense as he studied her, and she realized that he was probably getting an idea of what was going on. Castle wasn't an idiot, and he had always been far more ready than she was to believe in-

These sorts of things.

But she refused to try and explain right now. She was going to sound crazy, absolutely out of her mind, and she wanted, _needed_, the privacy and familiarity of their home.

His home. Damn.

She exhaled in relief when he turned the engine back on, steered them away from her old apartment.

God, what was happening to her?

* * *

Her theory - if it could even be called that, if it was anything other than a nonsensical, _you've read too much science-fiction _scenario - was confirmed the moment she stepped into the loft.

It still felt like her home - but it wasn't. Her trained eyes noticed all the subtle differences, the bare wall that should have had a painting of hers hanging there, the position of the couch, the chairs around the table that she and Castle had decided to change a couple months ago, and those were the old appliances in the kitchen.

Kate chewed on her lip, slowly spun on her feet, taking it all in.

If anything, the loft looked more like the place she remembered spending a couple days in after her apartment had been blown up, a time that felt like centuries ago, when their relationship was still so...undefined.

Right.

If Castle didn't remember her apartment being blown up, it meant it probably hadn't happened yet. Which meant the year was...what, late 2009? Early 2010?

She closed her eyes, felt the earth sway beneath her feet.

It couldn't be true.

And yet here she was.

"Beckett?"

She swirled around to face him, the use of her last name prickling her skin, like a faint echo of the person she once had been. Oddly familiar and slightly uncomfortable, all at once.

"Kate," she corrected before she could help herself.

Castle had taken his coat off and was now standing a few steps away from her, uncertain, blue eyes wide with curiosity.

How handsome he was. How young.

She felt her insides tighten with need, the need to touch him, to _have _him, have his mouth worship at her neck, his hands frantic at her; she had to swallow several times until she managed to push it back.

"You call me Kate, where I'm from," she finished in a strangled voice, knowing she was revealing too much but unable, for the life of her, to stop herself.

He watched her for a moment more, the slow dawn of knowledge on his face, and she couldn't help but feel grateful for his beautiful, open mind. With anyone other than Castle, this situation would have been a nightmare.

But with him, with the two of them together, she felt that maybe they could make sense of it.

"_Where_?" he finally echoed, moving forward, gesturing her towards the couch.

She sank down on it, surprised at how relieved her body was for the respite and disappointed, in spite of herself, when he took the opposite armchair. She could have used the physical comfort of him at her side.

"_When_ would probably be more accurate," she acknowledged softly, as if murmuring the words might somehow make them less foolish, less of an aberration.

But Castle didn't even flinch.

"What's today's date?" she asked, encouraged and deciding that they might as well get this over with. She needed a confirmation, one way or the other.

She needed not to be alone in this madness.

Something flickered in Castle's eyes, something like wonder, and when he answered she could tell he was trying to suppress the excitement from his voice. Trying, and failing.

"December 28th, 2009," he said, and she felt a surge of love for him, so sudden and fierce that she had to struggle to breathe through it, avert her eyes.

"Kate?" he asked, almost timidly.

Shit, shit. She couldn't seem to gather herself. She tried to focus on getting air to her lungs, slowly, in and out, but her eyelids wouldn't stop fluttering against the tears, and it made it hard to breathe for some reason-

"Kate," she heard again, much closer this time, and when she turned - yes, he was at her side, sitting next to her on the couch, looking stunned and so very... eager to help.

Oh, Castle.

He'd never seen her cry, had he? Maybe not. Maybe so. She couldn't remember. But there were so many things they'd never done together. And she was going to spoil this for him, all of it, but she needed him too badly to care.

"Castle," she whispered, pleaded, and without waiting for permission she buried her face in the crook of his neck, laced her arms around his shoulders. He felt so good; he felt warm and solid and _real_ against her, and she'd thought, she'd thought-

She'd thought she would never get to feel him again.

After a moment, his arms came around her, hesitant at first but so strong, so strong; she closed her eyes, the relief overwhelming, and burrowed deeper into him.

And she breathed him in, again and again, until his familiar, wonderful scent had become more tangible, more real to her than the terrible memory of his unseeing eyes.

* * *

She wanted to stay like this; she wanted to close her eyes and fall asleep curled up into him and open her eyes to discover it was just a weird, bizarre dream.

But she could feel the crazy pounding of his heart under her ear and the stiff clutch of his arm at her shoulder, as if he didn't know what to do with her. And of course he didn't; he had no idea. He was still acting mostly goofy and sweet and-

She could show him. She could show him how it was supposed to be.

He was Castle. No matter the time, the year, he was still her partner.

She shifted against him, sitting up a little to look at him - how young, how handsome, how very much still hers, even now. She could see it in his face, the dark shuttering of his eyes; he was in love with her. Or well, he wanted her.

Had she wanted him? She couldn't remember-

Oh - this Kate. Was there a version of Kate Beckett here and now who was still kidding herself? Wait, wait, this was - okay, this was after the murdered bridesmaid of Kyra's, wasn't it? And she'd thought, she'd thought that Castle - oh, she'd thought, for the first time, that this was possible - a real relationship with him.

But he didn't? She couldn't remember how that went. Why had she not just gone for it? She was cautious, yes, but she wasn't hopelessly entwined with him at this point - so why had she held herself back from him? She was always cautious, but Castle never had been, and with so little to lose at this point, why hadn't she-?

"Beckett?"

She realized she was staring at his mouth, his soft and beautiful lips; she had so much knowledge, so much awareness - his mouth traveling down her body, his mouth brushing her skin, the heat of his breath and the touch of his fingers and how he liked to lay over her and-

Kate surged into him on a moan, her kiss rough and needy at first, her teeth at his bottom lip to let her tongue inside, stroking along his, swallowing his gasp.

Her fingers curled at his ears and she felt him twitch, like he was flinching, but she wasn't going to stop kissing him, not when it was so good to have him, alive and beautiful and hers, and then he was kissing her back, more excited than she'd known him to be, more eager and desperate, no finesse to it.

She gentled him with a touch of her tongue to his, broke the kiss to brush her lips softly over his, again and again, came back to try once more. His hands slid up her back and held her there, and then his fingers curled at the nape of her neck, in her hair, just as he always did, and her heart leaped to feel it.

She slid a leg over his thigh to straddle his lap, rocking forward into his mouth, into his hips, into him-

He gasped and held her away, eyes rich with lust, hands tight on her upper arms, his body trembling. She'd never seen him with so little control around her-

Oh except-

Their first time.

Her stomach dropped, her heart crashing.

"You - you're really not her. You're really not Beckett."

She brought her hand up to her face, covering her eyes; she tried to keep from crying.

He grabbed her hand, yanked it down; she startled and stared at him, but his eyes were on her finger.

More precisely, the ring on her left hand, third finger. The ring he'd put there in about, oh, _five years._

"Oh my God," he whispered.

She snatched her hand back, scrambled off of his lap, feeling sick.

"You're cheating on me," he gasped. "With _me._"

She tripped over his coffee table - damn it, they'd moved it for that very reason - made her way to the other side of the room, sank down into the chair and buried her head in her hands.

Oh God. Oh God, this wasn't - this wasn't her _time._

"Are we married? Do I - get to marry you?" he hissed.

She moaned and pressed her hand to her mouth to contain it.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he rushed on. "I shouldn't - this is just - this is so strange, Beckett - ah, Kate? I don't know. What am I supposed to call you? Because Beckett-"

His silence, absolute and sudden, made her lift her head to look at him. He'd gone white, lips pressed together, and he swayed for an instant before fumbling in his pocket and pulling out his phone.

If she'd ever had any doubt that he'd been halfway in love with her, and definitely tied up in knots over her, way back then, _now_, then those doubts were erased at the look on his face.

"Beckett? Damn it, answer your phone," he growled, _to her_, sitting there in front of him.

She ducked her head back into her hands and tried to keep from hyperventilating.

"She's not answering. What if she - what if you switched places with her?"

"Well, then I guess she's getting your tongue rammed down her throat about now," Kate said bitterly. And then she remembered.

No. No, actually-

Actually, she'd be going to Castle's funeral.

Or maybe her own.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Better Fate**

* * *

He escaped from his apartment, his heart beating out of his chest, blood sizzling in his veins and lips burning from her kiss.

Kate.

He took the stairs because he absolutely couldn't wait for the elevator, couldn't stand still for one minute, not with all this energy crackling inside him, needing an out. Shit. Shit. Time travel?

He was completely psyched, and freaked, too, and he wasn't quite sure where one ended and the other started.

He barreled through the door of his building, came to a sharp stop in the middle of the street, surprised and dazzled by the bright sunlight. Right. Cab. He needed a cab. Damn, where was Beckett? Why was she not answering her phone?

_His_ Beckett. Not this...siren with the long hair, who cried openly in front of him and kissed him with abandon and told him to call her Kate. _Kate._

Oh man. He sounded crazy. Beckett was never going to believe him.

He finally managed to hail a cab, gave the driver the address of the 12th. He wasn't sure if she'd be there; he seemed to remember her saying something about spending a few days at her dad's place. He couldn't remember if it was supposed to be before or after New Year's Eve.

Last time he'd seen her was on the day after Kyra's wedding; he'd shown up at the precinct pretty early, but there was no case, only Beckett doing paperwork. After an hour of creepy staring, she'd hinted that he might have better things to do - presents to buy - and since it actually was true, he'd left her alone.

He'd texted her Merry Christmas three days ago, and she'd texted back, but nothing since then.

Maybe she was out of town.

Maybe she was lost somewhere in 2014, the future that _Kate _claimed she came from.

He shivered at the thought, then mentally snorted at himself for his word choice. _Claimed._ Like he didn't believe her.

Oh, he believed her.

What other choice did he have? What other explanation was there for the hair, the ring, the fine, imperceptible lines at the corners of her eyes? Not to mention the way she touched him?

Shit, they were _married._ He had _married her. _Okay, maybe he'd just gotten engaged to her. One and the same, anyway. It meant that at some point, some unbelievable, amazing point in the future, Kate Beckett would agree to be his _wife._

Shit.

It was blowing his mind. Repeatedly. He couldn't seem to turn it off.

But Beckett. _Beckett._

He exhaled slowly, tried to concentrate.

He didn't know what was going on in 2014, but from the fact that he'd collected her from the hospital this morning and the comment about her apartment being blown up _at some point in her past - his future_, he had a feeling that it was bad.

How bad, he didn't know.

But if Beckett-

Stop. Stop. He just - he needed to find her first. That was all.

He needed to find her.

* * *

Lanie shook her head, gave her that _sorry I can't help you _look. "I've got nothing else, girl."

Beckett sighed, put a hand on her hip, and surrendered. The case didn't look good, and she needed a lead, but obviously her vic's body didn't have any more information to yield. "Okay. Thanks anyway, Lanie."

She headed for the door of the morgue, was stopped by her friend's voice.

"Where is that sexy shadow of yours, by the way?"

The detective smirked, half-turned to answer. "Haven't called him yet. I figure it's still Christmas break, so he's probably got better things to do. Spend time with his daughter and all that."

"Kate Beckett, you call that man right now. I'm sure he wants nothing more than to be investigating this case with you."

Beckett laughed, couldn't help it. "Oh yeah, because a GSW to the chest is _so_ fascinating."

Lanie arched her eyebrows, pointed a finger at her. "If you think that causes of death are the only things that make Castle bring his cute little ass over here, I'm not sure you deserve to be a detective, girlfriend."

Beckett rolled her eyes, ignoring the tentative warmth that spread inside her chest, and pushed the door open. "Bye, Lanie," she said loudly before she stepped into the corridor, making her way to the elevator.

Her friend would probably grumble later about her good advice being ignored, but the detective was used to it.

She pressed the button to the homicide floor, settled against the back wall as the elevator went on its way up. She felt inside her pocket for her phone, but she must have left it at her desk; she bit her lip, decided it was better this way.

At least she wouldn't be tempted to call him.

Surely he had better things to do.

The elevator stopped on the ground floor, doors opening slowly, as if reluctant; Beckett was thinking that she should have taken the stairs when the very man she'd been thinking about stumbled inside, breathless.

He caught himself on the wall and then looked at her; his whole face brightened, so much relief and joy in his eyes that she thought for a second he was going to hug her. Kiss her. Something.

"Beckett," he breathed happily. "You're here."

Beckett surreptitiously moved away, as much as the reduced space allowed. "Where else would I be?" she asked.

He opened his mouth, and then a strange, self-conscious look crossed his eyes. "You said - something about spending time with your father," he offered, but she knew this wasn't the answer he'd wanted to make.

"That was on Christmas Day, Castle. But I'm back now."

"Thank god," he sighed, and she felt like he hadn't realized how much adoration his voice held. It caught her off-guard, made her heart hitch.

"What's wrong?" she said, because there had to be something. Castle didn't just show up at the precinct and treat her like she was one of the Seven Wonders. Or like she was about to disappear.

Something felt off.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed, and just as he started to speak the elevator signaled their arrival with a joyful ping. Beckett stepped out, but his hand at her elbow stopped her before she could go any farther.

She stiffened, unbalanced by the touching, and turned back to him.

"Castle."

"You've got to come to the loft with me," he said, almost apologetic now. Jeez.

"Castle, I'm _working_ here." Working on a case that looked every bit like a random mugging, and for which she had absolutely no leads, but working still.

"Beckett," he hesitated, and he looked so earnest, dead serious. "Kate."

Her first name sounded awkward, sounded foreign coming out of his mouth. She straightened her shoulders, alerted by it, studied his face. He didn't seem like he was weaving a trap or an elaborate practical joke.

What the hell was going on?

"Everything alright with Alexis?" she asked, just to make sure. She suspected he would have been a lot more upset if something had happened to his daughter, but she just-

She didn't understand.

"She's fine," he answered, eyes softening. "She's in California for a week or so, staying with her mom. Belated Christmas."

She nodded slowly, captivated by the intensity in his voice, his face, everything.

"Beckett. You have to come with me," he said again, quietly insistent; and for no reason that she could find, she found herself convinced.

"Let me - let me talk to the captain," she said.

* * *

Castle didn't say a word to her as she drove; he didn't know what to say. Any of the opening lines he came up with sounded. . .ridiculous. She'd pull the Crown Vic over and kick him out of her car, then turn around and go back to the precinct.

She definitely wouldn't kiss him. Like - like she was drowning and he was dry land.

Damn, this had knocked all the good words right out of his head; he was leaning back on the cliches to explain it, even to himself. No good. Seriously no good.

Thankfully, Beckett didn't say much either; she just parked the car a few blocks down from his place and they walked silently up the sidewalk towards his building. He still couldn't think of a good way to warn her about what she'd be walking into.

The doorman gave Beckett a double take, but before Eddie could start hinting that he'd never seen Detective Beckett leave, Castle had her in the elevator and headed up to his loft.

"So what's going on here, Castle?"

His mind went terrifyingly blank.

She sighed, crossed her arms over her chest. "This is getting a little-"

"Just." He gulped and rubbed a hand down his face, tried to formulate something, anything, to explain.

_Your future self is sitting in my apartment and she's wearing my ring._

Oh shit. Shit, this wasn't going to be good.

Beckett only watched him warily as they stepped off the elevator.

"You'll have to see it to believe it," Castle said finally. He unlocked his door and pushed on it, letting it swing wide. Beckett strode in ahead of him, her head turned back to berate him over her shoulder.

"Seriously, this is getting a little-"

A noise had her her head swiveling back around. Castle saw her eyes land on Kate. The other Kate.

Beckett yelled a curse and jumped backwards, hand going for her gun. "Shit. Castle. What the hell kind of joke is _this_?"

Castle snagged her by the wrist, slammed his door shut. Kate From the Future was all blazing and quiet strength in the middle of his living room while Beckett - his Beckett - clenched her fingers around his wrist and spun around to level him with a fearful and furious glare.

"What are you playing at? This is ridiculous and I need to be at work, not-"

"Oh, just shut _up._" Kate strode towards them.

Beckett froze; her eyes flickered up to his, panic - clear and unmitigated panic - scrawling across her eyes. "Castle," she hissed.

"It's-"

"Castle," she warned, and still she refused to look.

Nothing for it. "It's you, Beckett. It's you."

* * *

Oh God. Oh shit. Oh God.

She wouldn't look; she closed her eyes and tried to breathe, but his fingers were still wrapped around her wrist and he was too damn close.

Beckett backed up, pulling away from Castle, and felt the hands at her waist, keeping her from running into-

Shit.

Oh, shit shit shit.

She whirled around and confronted the thing - the - the woman - the-

"Me?" Beckett turned her head to look at Castle again, but in his eyes she could see straight to his heart, his confused and trembling heart, and she knew this wasn't some elaborate practical joke. "What the hell? _How-"_

But _she_ answered instead. "I don't have answers for you. I'm sorry. I think I was shot sometime in the future and - I woke up here - in the past."

Beckett jerked her eyes back to the woman. The - the future - the woman.

Behind her, she felt Castle crowd close to her back, felt the horror bleed off of him. "Shot? You were shot?"

The woman's eyes - oh jeez, oh shit, no, do _not_ let Castle see that - too late. Her eyes were soft and yielding and supportive and _so very in love with him_.

Beckett stepped to one side to shield that look, or shield Castle from that look? She couldn't be sure. "You were shot. And then?"

"I woke up in the same place. Just not - apparently not the same time."

Too much. This was just entirely too much. She shook her head and chewed viciously on her lower lip, hands on her hips as she stalked away. "Prove it. I don't - this isn't - prove it. Prove you are. . .who you say you are."

A snort from the woman. "Prove I'm me - you? Think about that for a second. All the intimate details you don't want me to give out. All my secrets? Well, don't worry. He knows them already. Or he will."

Oh shit. Jeez. What the hell? Beckett jerked her eyes back to Castle, involuntarily, and he was blushing. Blushing? He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck.

Her mouth dropped open and she spun back around to the woman. "You - you kissed him!"

Her doppelganger lifted an eyebrow, pressed her lips together, serene. Entirely unmoved by that. Beckett glanced to Castle and, if it was even possible, his blush was deeper, his eyes not meeting hers.

And shit, that _hurt._

The other woman grew soft again, just in the eyes, eyes Beckett knew, saw every morning, just not - not so lined, not so wise. Not so quick to fiercely love.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking a step forward. Beckett backed up. The woman pressed her lips together and tilted her head, arms bent at the elbows, hands clasped together. "Okay, fine. You want me to prove it. I will. Let me think. This is - you said 2009?" The woman took a quick look at Castle, and Beckett couldn't help seeing all the - the partnership in that glance. It made her breath falter.

"2009," she said, answering for Castle. "And you?"

The woman opened her mouth to answer, and then her face clouded. "I don't know how much I should say. But. Five years from now."

"Are you kidding me?" Beckett glared at her. "2014. You're - this is beyond - I can't. No. I don't believe this. This doesn't happen." She pivoted to glare at Castle. "This doesn't happen, Castle. This isn't like CIA conspiracies or secret ninja attacks or-"

"Sometimes it is?" he asked, his face a twisted mask of something like belief. "She - you - she's you."

"Kyra Blaine."

Beckett spun back around, heart in her throat, and stared at the woman. "What?" she croaked out.

"She told you - she just told you that Castle was all yours."

"She said _what_?" Castle gasped.

Beckett felt the floor tilt away from her and reached out for the wall, held herself up.

"And you thought-"

"Shut up," Beckett got out, her voice cracking. "For God's sake, shut up."

"No." The woman moved closer, stalking her, and Beckett shot a glance to Castle, but he was listening, damn him, he was listening to every word. "Because you need proof. So I'm giving you proof. When Kyra said that, you thought, for the first time, he's capable of something real-"

"Shut up," she hissed. This woman was going to ruin everything. "What about preserving the timeline? What about - what if you _change things_ by saying too much? Isn't that like - what's it called? The Prime Directive?"

Castle let out a startled laugh behind the woman, gave her a look she couldn't decipher. "That's Star Trek, Beckett. For not interfering with pre-warp alien civilizations-"

"That's what this is, though," Beckett said insistently. "This time. It's a pre-warp alien civilization here. You can't mess with it."

"But I already have, haven't I? Just coming here," the woman said, shaking her head and scraping a hand through her hair. "Telling you I got shot."

When did she start running her hand through her hair? When did her hair get so damn long? And - oh, she liked it a lot, but she wasn't sure she could do her job like that, with the wave to it, and how long did that take in the morning, because straightening it was a chore, but-

Off track. Off track. Get back to-

"What do you mean?" Castle was asking, stepping between them. And damn if she didn't feel _grateful_ to him for doing it. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe.

Her other self went on. "I mean. Are there rules to time travel? Am I even really - how do I know I'm not just dreaming this in a coma in the hospital? Or what if I'm changing things so much that I start to - erase myself?I don't-"

"Where - why - erase yourself? I don't think you should say anymore," Castle interrupted. "I don't - what if you change stuff that shouldn't be changed?"

"What if it should be changed?" the other woman said, but her voice was thin and barely there. Her eyes drifted to Castle. "What if I'm here to - change things? _Castle_, Rick-"

And before Beckett even knew what was going, what had happened, Castle was engulfing her in his arms.

The other her.

Not Beckett.

And her heart twisted even more at that.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Better Fate**

* * *

He smelled like hers.

But he wasn't.

Kate pulled back, swiping at her eyes, unable to look at him. She saw her counterpart standing stock still just to one side, her eyes murderous and yearning at the same time. Kate reached out and grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her after. . .herself.

Beckett resisted, but Kate was stronger.

Interesting. She _was_ stronger. She could do this.

In Castle's study, Kate spun around and jerked the woman closer to her. "Listen to me. I will do anything, _anything_, to-" Here she faltered again, because she couldn't - there was so much she couldn't or shouldn't say. "To keep what I have," she said finally.

Beckett was regarding her warily. Her_self,_ her own stupid, closed off self. How had Castle ever gotten through to her? "You mean. . .your future."

"I mean _your_ future. My - my _life._" Castle. She had to keep Castle alive somehow. But from five years ago? Why not five months, or five days? Why not even five minutes before he was shot right in front of her?

Beckett raised a hand to cover her eyes and then dropped it, swallowing hard. "I still don't - you could be - some of this is just-"

"You think you might, maybe, could love him," Kate whispered, her heart breaking. "I _do _love him. You won't - God, it takes forever. It takes forever, but it's so worth it. He's worth it."

Beckett backed away from her, shaking her head, but her eyes were on Kate's hand. The ring. She'd seen it too. It'd hit her the same way it had hit Castle. _Good._

Kate held up her hand, wriggled her fingers. "See this? He loves you too. He's out there thinking the same thing - that maybe he could love you _now. _I will do anything to protect that. I won't - I don't want to change the past by saying more than I should, so you have got to let me protect your future."

She watched Beckett stare at the ring, felt the weight of it around her finger, the promises they'd wanted to make to each other, the promises he'd already made her, but which Kate had kept putting off. There was just never enough time to sit down and plan a wedding, and she'd refused to let him hire someone to do it, and then there'd been case after case and-

And, if she was being honest, completely honest, she'd wanted her mother's case done. Over. Closed. She'd wanted to be free to live this life with Castle, free of the past, free even of the present, the future - nothing planned, nothing hanging over her head. She'd been afraid that if she did one little thing wrong, if she stepped out of line or crossed some unknown boundary, she'd wind up on the wrong side of a gun.

And him as well.

She'd been right, but it was her own damn fault. Her worst fear had been realized. It had happened. It _would_ happen.

But not if she could stop it.

They - these two - they could never know.

* * *

When they came back into the living-room, Beckett looked - well, not exactly convinced, of course not, but she looked...shaken. Her face was pale and she was chewing on her lower lip something fierce; it made him want to go to her, tell her he felt the same.

Lost and confused and scared out of his mind.

The excitement had left him the moment Kate from the future had lifted her eyes to him, dark despair swirling in their depths; it was bad. Whatever had happened to her, it was bad.

And he would do anything - anything it took - to ensure _his _Beckett never got that same look on her face.

He lifted himself off the seat he had sunk into, took a few steps towards them, the women who looked like twins, so similar and yet so different. Kate acknowledged him, gave him a small, sad smile, but Beckett seemed lost in her thoughts. She had her arms wrapped around her waist, as if trying to protect herself, and she took a few steps towards the kitchen, her back turned to them.

It made his heart ache.

"So?" he said, wincing when he heard the sharp, rough eagerness in his voice. "What's the plan? How do we get you. . .home?"

Kate turned a surprised look to him as she sat down, resting her neck against the back of the couch, and he was struck all at once by how...exhausted she looked.

He went to her, couldn't help himself. "Hey, you okay?"

She closed her eyes for a second, two, and when she opened them again he was faced with an unending sea of sorrow.

"I'm fine," she breathed, and it was a lie. Her fingers were a fist on her knee.

He hesitated, not sure if he should push, and as he looked up he unexpectedly met Beckett's eyes. She had stepped closer, was staring at them with a painful expression on her face.

Jealousy.

The word was on his mind before he could stop it, and his stomach twisted, his body instinctively moving away from Kate's.

Oh god. God. What was he _supposed_ to do? They were the same_ person_, for god's sake, the same smart, headstrong, gorgeous, _frustrating _woman that he was absolutely fascinated with, ensnared by, in - oh, what good was denying it now? - _halfway in love with._

He couldn't-

"The plan?" Future Kate said slowly, and her voice wound around him, soft, careful, bitter at the edges. She was looking from Beckett to him, seeing too much, _knowing_ too much; he was about to say something, anything to cut through the quickly-rising tension, when a light shifted in her eyes.

Realization.

"Oh," she sighed, and her palms came up to press against her eyelids, shielding her gaze from him, as if she was giving herself time to think. When her hands slowly slid down her face, she seemed like a different person; certainty, confidence in the curl of her mouth.

"This - the last case you worked together," she said, looking at them both. "It was Kyra's bridesmaid's murder, right?"

Castle wasn't sure how that was relevant, but he nodded. "Yeah."

"Nothing since then?" she insisted, her eyes on Beckett now.

"Not together." Beckett shook her head, her lips pressed tightly, as if she wanted to keep her dealings with her future self as minimal as she could.

"Nothing that you should have called him for?"

Castle glanced up at Beckett, faintly hurt by the revelation that there were good cases out there that she apparently didn't call him for.

But she shot him a look, and even though it wasn't exactly friendly, it was reassuring. "No. GSW today. That's all."

Kate didn't seem fazed by the exchange; she had this look on her face, the one she got when she broke a case wide open, when she was in the middle of figuring it out. So beautiful. "Okay," she said slowly to herself. "Okay. So this is why. And maybe this gets me home, too."

"What?" he asked briskly, the need to know clawing sharply at his insides. "What are you talking about?"

She lifted her eyes to him, those gorgeous green eyes that he was so familiar with but had never seen quite so unguarded, and she bit her lower lip, thinking. He could feel Beckett hovering near, somewhere at the edge of his vision, like she couldn't help moving forward, being pulled in.

"I don't think..." Kate paused, obviously trying to calculate, make sense of things. "I don't think I should tell you anything more. I've - I've said too much already. If I'm here to change things, to keep this event from happening, then I will do that, but you - you should get on with your lives and just-"

"Just _pretend _that you were never here?"

Beckett's voice came out strong and sharp; it made him jump a little, realizing that she was now at his side. Standing together. Like a team. It sparked stupid gratitude in his chest.

The future Kate gritted her teeth, got a stubborn frown on her face that suddenly made them exactly the same. Castle's mind spun at the sight.

"Look, I know how it sounds. But I think it's probably best for you two to ignore whatever I'm doing-"

"No," Beckett opposed firmly. "Whatever you're doing, as you, yourself, said, it's our business. And let's face it: you're going to need help. There's no way you can change the future all by yourself. You don't want to be shot? Well, I don't want to be shot either. We do this together, or not at all."

Oh, that wasn't a clever thing to say - that wasn't a clever thing to say at all - a challenged Beckett was rarely a smart Beckett-

"Oh, yeah?" Kate said, lifting herself off the couch, calm and regal in her defiance. "Watch me."

* * *

Beckett stood stunned and furious in Castle's living-room as her future self stalked out of the loft, slammed the door behind her.

That - that wasn't-

"Castle," she found herself hissing, spinning on her heels to meet his eyes. He looked dumbfounded, helpless, his blue eyes so wide, his lips parted. Heat flared in her belly and she angrily smothered it.

"What?" he breathed, as if shaken out of a trance.

"Well - go after her! Don't let her-"

Words failed her; she had no idea what this Kate was up to, but it couldn't be good, it couldn't be good and _honestly how could she be stupid enough to believe that without back-up-_

"Let her?" Castle seemed much too close to laughing for her taste. She glared at him and his face quickly sobered up. "Kate - ah, Beckett - I'm not sure anybody could ever keep you from doing something you'd set your mind on. Much less me."

"What do you mean, _much less you?_" she answered impatiently, ignoring the sheepish look in his eyes. Damn, there was _no time_ for this. "Castle - just go after her and tell her-"

"Why me?" he protested, mouth curling into a childish pout. "_You_ go. She's you, after all - you should be able to convince yourself more quickly than I ever-"

Beckett growled, a guttural, threatening sound that had him shutting his mouth and recoiling, looking slightly scared. "_Now_, Castle."

He didn't argue this time, sprinted to the door instead, yanking it open; she followed after him, her feet moving without her agreement, and the tempo of her heels against his hardwood floor helped her focus, clear her mind.

She ran down the stairs after him, her knees swallowing the five floors without complaint. When they swept past the doorman, the guy gave her a bewildered look, and Castle only slowed long enough to breathlessly offer, by way of explanation, _sisters_.

Beckett nearly crashed into his back when the writer came to a complete stop on the sidewalk. The sun was still shining outside, and she shielded her eyes with a hand, muttered a curse.

Castle was twisting around, unable to stay in place as he searched. "I don't see her. Beckett, I don't see her-"

She gripped his elbow, made him stop, and surveyed their surroundings. The street was busy; it would have been easy for the - the woman - to disappear into the crowd. But really, they hadn't hesitated more than a minute upstairs - how was it possible-

Castle was whining something about her not knowing her strength; she released him, turned slowly to inspect the other side of the street.

Well, her future self might be stubborn and stupid, but she was also pretty damn fast. Beckett curled her lower lip between her teeth, frustration bubbling inside her.

"Beckett..."

Did this Kate even have any money, ID, anything? How was she hoping to-

"Beckett."

"What?" she snapped, her head swiveling to her shadow. The affronted look in his eyes told her she'd gone too far; she sighed inwardly and resigned herself to listening.

"Don't look at me like it's my fault," he huffed. "We both let her go."

She kept silent.

"Look, Beckett-" he hesitated; she wasn't going to like whatever was coming. "Maybe we shouldn't try to chase her. Maybe she's right."

"_What?_"

She couldn't believe him. Castle - Castle, of all people, Castle who had opened up her mother's case _without even asking her_ - was willing to let this go? No way. No freaking way.

"I'm just saying. It can't be good for us to know too much about the future, right? And whatever Kate was sent back here to do - maybe she's supposed to do it on her own. We don't know, Beckett. We don't know _anything._"

_Kate._ He was calling that woman Kate.

Beckett wanted to punch something.

"So?" she said sharply, putting a firm lid on her stupid emotions. "Don't tell me you don't want to find out, Castle. Cause I don't believe you."

He pressed his lips together, looked away. When had he become the cautious one? Beckett shook her head, incomprehension and anger both.

"_Fine_," she hissed. "I'll find her on my own, then. I have to say, I'm surprised you're not more eager to repeat the kissing experience."

It was unfair - she knew it was - but she was mad and confused and hurt, and it was the only way she knew how to deal. She saw a flash of indignation in his blue eyes, saw his lips part on some kind of answer, but she was already turning away.

_Don't look back, Beckett._

She ignored him and strode off towards her car.

* * *

Castle glared after her on the sidewalk, and that familiar surge of exasperation rose up in him again. She was so damn frustrating, so stubborn-

Well, he'd prove-

Something. He'd prove _himself_ and he'd find Kate first.

Ha. So there.

He spun around to head back inside and then stopped, his heart pounding.

Kate Beckett was _on the loose_ in her own past. In a past she knew, she remembered, and could easily alter.

She knew about the case with Kyra, whatever that had been, and she'd obviously told Beckett some kind of secret in his study, the two of them. She had knowledge of where they would be in five years, but more importantly, she had knowledge of where they would be _tomorrow._

And she could do whatever she wanted about that, start now at changing things, _saving _things, or-

What if she didn't want to be married to him?

Or worse, what if she looked back on the last five years and thought it would be better if _he stopped being her partner?_

Oh damn, he needed to find her.

* * *

Castle hurried through pedestrians, muttering apologies under his breath as he worked his way down the block. He had an idea, and it was faint and really pretty terrible, but he had an idea of where she might have gone.

He'd stood outside his building for a good five minutes, trying to imagine the trajectory of her life - Kate seemed to still be a detective, seemed he was still her partner, seemed to have a good instinct for _them_ in a way that Beckett and he only now had achieved. Or were working towards.

So if he assumed they would grow ever closer, that with each passing year he and Beckett became more familiar to each other, then the things that now seemed small and one-off, seemed random and without meaning-

Well, then those things might actually come to have meaning.

And he was, if not the best ride-along/partner she'd ever had, then at least he was still a writer. Nikki Heat's writer. Beckett's writer (even if she didn't want him to be, but maybe, later, she did want him to be, since it looked like-)

Yes. And that's when he'd figured it out.

She was Beckett, still, even if she wore an engagement/wedding ring, even if she looked at him with such tender regard, even if she straddled his lap and kissed him like she knew every single touch and movement that turned him on-

well, because she did, didn't she?

But he knew her too. She was still Beckett. Equally maddening, equally beautiful, equally a creature of habit.

So when he yanked open the door of his regular place, the distinctive aroma of the freshly brewed and entirely organic coffee hit him with all the sense of a welcoming and alert _good morning._

Even though it was nearly lunch time. It still did that for him, focused his crazy energy into a pinpoint clarity.

"Damn."

He startled and turned immediately to his left; she was sitting in front of the broad windows, her table empty, her hands pressed flat to the wood as she looked up at him. Rueful. As if she should have known better.

He slid across from her. "Figured you'd need a place to start."

She regarded him for a moment. "Coffee is always the place to start, yeah." She sighed like she was giving in to him.

He studied her, the glints of sun in her hair that made a nimbus of color in the usually dark strands, the lines around her eyes that spoke of happiness and smiling, the throb of a tendon or maybe a vein in her forehead that he'd never seen in Beckett.

"I have to figure out the timeline," she said with a sigh, scraping a hand through her hair.

The timeline. She was older, five years older, but clearly she was still herself. He glanced down and noticed her coffee-less state, held up a hand to stall her explanation. "Wait. Clearly we both need it. Stay right here."

He got back in line and ordered quickly, racking his brain on what to get-

Oh. Well. She was still Beckett, right? He'd found her at the one place he stopped by to get them coffee, when he did actually get them coffee (which wasn't as often as he should, now that he thought about it, but he could do that more - that could be their thing, or well, it would be their thing, wouldn't it?).

He ordered two bear claws, smiling to himself as he remembered a particular instance last year with the bear claws, and then he waited near the other end of the counter for their coffees. He pulled out his phone and texted Beckett the location of where he'd found her alternate self, amused at his own message, and then grabbed the coffees from the barista and threaded his way back towards Kate.

She was rubbing two fingers against the wood veneer of the table, but she looked up at him with a shimmer of emotion in her eyes that caught his breath.

He handed her the coffee, then sat down across from her, accidentally rocking the table. She reached out and took the bag from him, opened it up and fished out a pastry without comment. He watched her tear apart the bear claw, feed it past her lips slowly, with relish, and the similarities between the two women overwhelmed him.

This was Beckett. This was _his Beckett_. Just - a little further down the line.

"Do you love me?" he blurted out.

She lifted her eyes, but said nothing. Still. He knew Beckett well enough by now to see the difference swirling there. If he hadn't asked, and she'd looked at him like this, he would still know it for what it was.

She was completely and unflinchingly in love with him.

"Give it a few years," she said finally, and he realized her hand had come over his on the table, her fingers were squeezing his.

"A few years?" he whined. Mostly to break the awkward intimacy. Awkward only because there was, strangely, a third person at the table with them who would be upset, jealous even, and it was only her own self. "Because, let's be real, Beckett is already halfway into me right now, and there's no one else on the horizon, so why not now. . ."

"Mm, can't exactly tell you why not," she murmured, and her eyes roamed his face as if she knew him so very well, as if her fingers could skim the lines of his nose, his cheeks, so familiarly.

"Sure you can. Come on."

"I love what we have," she said suddenly. "I wouldn't change it for the world."

He sat back at the ferocity in her voice, the protective instinct that had come to life in her.

She was in love with him. Beckett - in five years - she would look at him like _this_ and she would kiss him like _that_ and she would wear his ring.

Wait.

His ring? He'd sworn off marriage. After the first two plummeted so quickly, he'd promised himself that he wouldn't do that again. He wasn't the marrying type, really; he'd told himself it was better to have fun, keep it separate from his real life - from his daughter and their own little world.

"Does my daughter approve?" he asked suddenly, his hand coming out to snag hers. He felt her fingers flex.

"I can't tell you-"

"Right. Sorry. Yeah." He held on to her hand though, couldn't quite give it up yet. She wasn't pulling away either. He pushed the ring back to the base of her finger with his thumb, studied it. "You picked this out."

He heard her startled intake of breath, felt her hand quiver once in his.

"Yeah, see, this isn't - I would've gone for a lot flashier and-"

"No," she said suddenly and jerked her hand away from him. "He picked it out."

_He._

Ah, so that's how it was now? She'd separated them in her head. Them? There was no them. There was himself, and her, and somehow they'd been given the chance to rectify a future that he was only getting scary glimpses of, but which still intrigued him.

Attracted him.

He would - yes, actually - he found himself willing to fight for it, for a future in which she loved him, and he was willing to - could actually see himself - marry her.

"He picked it out," she said again. "For me. Because he knows me."

_And you don't._

"I found you here, didn't I?" he said to that, his heart clenching. He wanted her. He didn't know when it had happened, but he _wanted_ her. And it hurt when she looked at him like that, like he didn't measure up. He wanted to measure up; he wanted to deserve that look in her eyes and that degree of loyalty. He wanted it for himself.

He saw the struggle in her, the fight to maintain her distance, but she gave it up in a heartbeat. Her hands flipped his around and she brought his palm to her mouth, kissed him, her eyes closing.

His fingers curled around that kiss and that was how she found them.

Beckett. When she walked in the door.

That was how she found them.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Better Fate**

* * *

_You feel nothing. You feel nothing. You feel nothing._

Beckett bit the inside of her cheek, hard, to keep a leash on her instinct to flee, keep her feet in place, rooted to the spot.

She didn't care. It didn't matter.

She barricaded her heart, took a long, slow breath, and she strode forward.

The woman - she would not call her Kate, she would _not_ - dropped Castle's hand the moment she saw her coming; she didn't look ashamed, no, but there was something like apology in her eyes.

Beckett ignored it.

She sat down in a seat next to Castle; no matter how stupid, how gullible he was, he was still her shadow. They were still a team.

"So?" she asked coolly. Part of her wanted to ask if they'd come up with a valid plan, or if they'd just been too busy staring into each other's eyes - but that was revealing too much. That was _caring._

She didn't care.

"Want me to get you some coffee first?" Castle asked eagerly; she knew without turning her head what look went with that voice, hopeful and a little too much, like he always was when he had something to make up for.

He already had his hand at her hip, as if to nudge her into answering; Beckett jerked away, glared at him. "Castle. Not now."

The other - the woman was giving her a strange look, knowing and sad, with something in it that looked like pity. It made Beckett's teeth clench.

She didn't expect the cup of steaming coffee that sat in front of the woman to be pushed towards her, a peace offering of sorts; she also couldn't help noticing that the fingers lingering on the mug were _hers, _slim and strong, with hints of that elegance she had always envied in her mother. Jeez, five years and she was old.

But there was a difference. The ring - _his_ ring.

Beckett studied the coffee; she didn't touch it.

The woman sighed. "I was just telling Castle that - I need to figure out the timeline. I think I know why I'm here, _now._ But there are so many factors to take into account - and obviously, this all happened five years ago for me, and the details of the case..."

Beckett snorted. "Oh, please. Don't tell me you don't remember. I remember every case I've worked."

She felt Castle's eyes fix on her, felt the warmth of his admiration surround her, but she didn't look away from her future self. There was a flash of anger in the woman's eyes, and it only made Beckett more suspicious.

She'd been through enough interrogations to know when someone was trying to lie. Or conveniently sidestepping the truth.

"Look," _Kate_ said, her lips pressed together as she flicked her eyes between the two of them. "There are things I know that I _can't_ tell you - things that would change the trajectory of your lives-"

"And isn't _that_ what you want?" Beckett didn't flinch at the furious, frustrated glare her doppelgänger leveled on her; she stared back, unwavering.

After a moment, her future self leaned back in her chair, sighing, running her hand through the dark curls that fell past her shoulders. "You just - you just have to trust me. I'm sorry, there's no other way I can think of. You have to trust that I will do the right thing for you."

"Trust you."

It was all Beckett could do not to snicker; her voice was heavy enough with disbelief as it was. The woman in front of her had the audacity to look hurt and uncomprehending.

"I _am you_," she pointed out, her eyebrows raised as it to emphasize the irrationality of Beckett's doubts. "You know I'll do right by him. Don't you think I'm going to do what's right for you too?"

Ah. There they were.

Beckett marveled at the woman's nerve; an hour ago, in Castle's study, she'd admitted that she was ready to do anything in order to preserve _her _life, her relationship with _her _Castle - and now she acted like she cared about them?

Beckett knew better. She leaned forward. "No," she said, deliberate. "You're a future version of me? Fine. But how do _I_ know I want _any_ of that future of yours?"

Kate blanched; apparently, that wasn't an objection she'd planned for.

Beckett was opening her mouth to say more, but Castle beat her to it. He'd been so quiet that she didn't expect him to jump in; she also didn't expect the level of hurt hidden under the casualness of his voice.

"What's wrong, Beckett? Don't wanna marry me?" The forced cheer in his smile made her stomach twist.

Oh jeez, Castle. That wasn't - it wasn't what she'd meant - _he was taking this the wrong way_.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind wiped blank, but she was saved from answering by a low moan coming from her future self.

Both of them turned back to the woman; she was clinging to the table, her eyes shut tight, her face drawn in pain. She was so pale, her skin was nearly bloodless.

"What's wrong?" Castle asked immediately, the concern in his tone making a dent in Beckett's heart.

The other Kate shook her head slowly; she seemed to be focusing on her breathing. Some color eventually came back to her cheeks, and she lifted her eyes to them, the dull edge of pain vanishing slowly, receding second by second.

"No idea what that was," she said quietly, stunned and - afraid? Was that what it was? "I just - I don't know. Felt sick, hard to breathe."

Beckett stared hard at her alter ego, wondering if this was a trick to win their compassion, but the woman genuinely seemed confused and...battered. It made Beckett uncomfortable.

Castle opened his mouth, probably to share a theory, but before he could say a word there was a commotion at the counter, followed by the sharp sound of shattered glass, startling and echoing through the coffee shop. Beckett started to turn and look, but her movement was stopped by the wild, jerky panic in her future self's eyes.

"Castle, get down," the woman gasped, and then she was lunging over the table as her hands reached for him, yanked on his shirt, his neck, trying to pull him under the cafe table and to the ground.

Castle grunted and crashed halfway; the woman seemed to be jolted back to awareness but unable to let go, the two of them hanging in mid-air to one side of the table.

Beckett swallowed, found herself unprotected against the halted gasping of her own self, the despair that spilled over her cheeks; she averted her eyes, saw that a few dumbfounded customers were watching the woman's display.

She stared them down.

When she turned back, the future Kate was still curled at Castle's chest, shaking badly, hands clenched at his shirt; the writer stretched to one side of the table trying to soothe her, running his palms up and down her arms, murmuring to her.

_Kate_, Beckett heard, once, and the name in his mouth clawed at her chest when it wasn't directed at her.

She ruthlessly pushed it down, wouldn't name it; but relief flared inside her when the woman let go of Castle, obviously trying to gather herself as she sat back in her chair on the opposite side of the table.

Her eyes met Beckett's for a split second, and the emptiness in them was terrifying. Beckett remembered seeing a similar look on her own face in the weeks following her mother's death, but this...

It was worse. It was-

so much worse.

Beckett's nails dug into her palm, sharp, deep enough to draw blood.

No, she did _not_ want that woman's future.

* * *

Kate couldn't get her hands to stop trembling; she slid them under her thighs, hid them from view.

She was completely _losing it_. Coonan wasn't Lockwood; and anyway, it was Raglan that Lockwood had been hired to kill, and then Maddox to shoot her at Montgomery's funeral, not Castle. The breaking glass had her shoved violently back into those last moments in the warehouse and-

No. She would change it. She would save him. She had to.

But if she started changing things-

At least the incident seemed to have earned her, if not the trust, at least some goodwill from her past self. Amazing, how stubborn she'd been - _still are,_ Castle's voice said somewhere in her mind, warm and chuckling.

Oh, _Castle._

It pulsed and throbbed in her stomach, so sharp, the lack of him - the real him - like a dark pit that threatened to swallow her whole. She balanced herself on the edge, an acrobat, expertly tricking her brain into believing it didn't hurt so badly.

And then there were moments like that. And it would eat her alive if she couldn't tear herself away.

"Look, this will be dangerous," she told them, these younger version of herself and Castle that she felt compelled to protect. "It will get you in trouble. Me, I'll be fine. This isn't my life. Or well, it was, but it isn't now. I'm...a ghost. I can use that. But you guys - this is your time, your lives. Whatever you do will have consequences."

She paused, watched them exchange a pondering look, hoping to God she could convince them to leave her alone.

"We understand," Castle said after a moment, turning those stunningly blue eyes to her. "But still, I don't think it's a good idea for you to do this on your own. Obviously, you can't be seen with Beckett too much - someone would end up noticing - but... I can help."

She exhaled in despair and parted her lips to protest, but he was still speaking, faster now, so eager to persuade. "We work well together, Kate. You know that; I know that. I've turned out to be more useful than you'd ever have guessed, haven't I?"

An almost smile danced at her mouth; if only he knew. In front of her, her younger self pursed her lips, as if only reluctantly admitting the truth in his words. Jeez, what an arrogant fool she was.

At least she'd learned.

"You say you're a ghost, but you have _my _fingerprints, my DNA," this Beckett declared, her jaw set, fire in her eyes. "Anything you do, it's going to look like I did it. Because, well. It'll be me, won't it."

Castle shot Kate a worried glance, as if he were saying, _Yeah, she's right, hey, what about that, Kate?_ She ran a hand down her eyes and tried to gather her wits.

"I'm not going to get you in trouble."

"But you can't promise me that. Without a team to run interference, you're going at this blind and uninformed. I can use the resources of the 12th - we can _think it through_ before you pull some dangerous stunt that I'm going to get blamed for." She stared firmly into Kate's eyes, that _non-negotiable_ look on her face that Kate knew so very well. "We do this as a team," she said, "or we don't do it at all."

Kate was tempted to object, but she knew that there would be no keeping herself - Beckett - out of this. And wherever Beckett went, Castle was sure to follow. But if Kate could pretend to give them what they wanted, then she could have Castle at her side for the parts she knew were harmless, and maybe she would manage to keep them out of the real loop.

Keep them _safe_.

Castle's lifeless body crumpled in some faraway part of her mind, and Kate made a choice.

"It's a deal," she said.

* * *

Castle didn't miss the look Beckett gave him when he offered his place for Kate to stay. He tried to humor her out of it, because really, she couldn't say in one breath that she didn't want this future with him and then in the very next serve him up a cold and miserable glare as if she were jealous.

Not fair, Beckett. Play by the rules.

"So where do we start?" he asked, walking between the two of them, disconcerted every time Kate's fingers glanced along his. He knew she wasn't doing it consciously, knew that it was habit, but it also meant that in five years, they walked side by side like they usually did and only then _they held hands._

From time to time.

And her fingers were thin, strong; he found himself lifting his index finger and hooking hers without really meaning to. They'd walk a few paces like that and then the natural rhythm of their stride would jostle them apart, and she seemed to have no idea she was doing it.

It turned him on. He needed to stop.

He couldn't stop.

He'd wanted her for a long time, two years, and here she was.

"Come on. We had a deal," Beckett said sharply at his left. He glanced over at her, startled to see her there, realized that every time he brushed fingers with Kate, somehow he'd made her out to be Beckett. His. Not - not his future, but his present.

"Okay. I know. I'm trying to think," Kate said then, interrupting the strange revelation going on in his head. "It has to do with the Westies. Castle and I can go-"

"Are you kidding me?" Beckett hissed. "You want to take Castle into the Westies' territory?"

"I did it before. _You_ _will_ do it. But if I can - if we can maybe warn them ahead of time-"

"Warn them?" Beckett growled. "I'm not signed on for giving the Westies a heads up."

"No, listen to me for one second, would you? This is ridiculous. Jeez, Castle, was I always like this?"

She'd been muttering when she said it, but he thought maybe she really was asking. "Yeah?"

Beckett smacked him in the chest with the back of her hand, glaring, but Kate was the one still brushing his fingers, sometimes even skimming shoulders. He picked Kate.

Oh. That - that sounded wrong. That _was_ wrong.

But-

"Maybe you're right," he heard her say. "I'll go alone. I shouldn't bring him in there-"

"No," Beckett was saying back. "Not this time. I don't know what you're trying to pull here, but Castle's going with you. I've got to finish up the GSW at the 12th."

Wait. He's doing what?

* * *

"Castle. These guys can be rough, and I've only got my extra piece. Maybe you really should stay-"

He grunted at her and shook his head. Beckett had reluctantly given Kate her ankle holster and weapon, but she hadn't been happy about it. And Castle didn't like the idea of her going in here without backup. "No way, Kate."

"Okay, well. . ." She gave him a once over and then a smile flickered over her face, as if she had some sort of private joke. "Just. . .don't talk and try to - butch up a little, Castle."

He glared at her, but he did shrug his shoulders and set his face, trying to look more like her crazy-thug boyfriend than her soft-handed writer for a shadow.

Inside, the bartender was posturing and giving him the eye, shoving a foul-smelling egg down his gullet; he reached for the jar of pickled eggs, feeling his manhood threatened, but before he could even try, Kate nudged his hip and shot him a look.

That was definitely a _no._

He left the pickled eggs alone and hulked at her back. Or tried to.

"Finn Rourke," she said evenly, approaching an older man sitting hunched at the bar.

The bartender slid down towards them even as the older man turned his back. "Is that who you're looking for? Not here. Far as we're concerned, you and your wife can head on out."

Castle bristled, but Kate's pinky finger came out to press against his thigh, intimate and hot and a warning.

"This is the part where I tell you that one phone call and the department of health is walking in here, and you're shut down for thirty days. Guaranteed. Do you really want to tell that to your boss here? I got eyes; I know it's you, Rourke."

Rourke, evidently, seemed surprised that Beck - that _Kate_ - knew him by sight; he turned on his barstool with a fish-eyed, cold glare that sliced right through Castle. "And who might you be? You and pretty-boy here."

"Detective Beckett, Mr. Rourke. I'm here about Jack." She slid a glance to Castle, and he wondered what exactly that was supposed to mean - do a better job at manliness? - but then she shook him off and turned her hot-bad-ass-detective glare on Rourke.

The leader of the Westies nursed his beer. "Ah, so you are."

"I know you're having a little bit of a problem in your territory. I know Jack is supposed to be solving the problem for you. But what you don't know is that the problem? - he's found Jack first."

"Well, thank ye kindly for the warning, Detective. But I think this is where I tell you to pound sand."

"When did you last see Jack?"

"I don't remember; none of us remember." His stare was so dead, so without fear, that it crawled up Castle's spine and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "And, I think you'll find the department of health takes a very liberal attitude to my establishment, lass. You got nothing."

Beckett leaned in closer, her eyes like hard coals in her face. "Well remember this. When you bring in Trucho and beat him half to death for traipsing through your territory? Jack will already be dead. And it won't be Trucho's fault; it'll be yours."

She stood and pivoted back to Castle, grabbing him painfully by the elbow as she jerked him away from the bar.

"Who's Trucho?" he whispered, felt her fingers squeeze tighter on his arm. "And, for that matter, who's Jack?"

She didn't answer him.

* * *

Beckett glanced at her father's watch once more, caught herself, pressed her lips tight as she tugged the sleeve of her shirt down to hide the watch's face.

She wasn't worried.

She wasn't counting the minutes since _that woman_ had taken Castle with her into Westies territory - unarmed, civilian Castle who, no matter how good he was at figuring out motives and making up stories, was still just a _writer_-

"Esposito," she called, wincing when her voice came out more snappish than she'd intended.

The Hispanic detective turned dark, interrogative eyes to her. "Yeah?"

"Where are we on the Roberts case?" Her knee was bouncing; she sucked in a long breath, forced her body to go still.

Javier shrugged, shook his head. "Nothing new. Ryan is still going through every single number in the phone, but so far he hasn't gotten anywhere. Why?"

_Because I need a distraction. _

She glared at him. "I need a reason to ask you about our leads now?"

He raised his hands and eyebrows in that familiar, _fine be like that_ gesture, and walked away; Beckett bit hard on her lower lip, turned to the annoyingly empty murder board. She needed something to do-

Her phone chimed.

She hastily dug her hand into her pocket, then paused, stopping herself, counted to five and then slowly retrieved her cell.

She was in control. She could do this.

_Leaving Westies territory. Don't know what we accomplished, but at least we're alive. Meet you at the loft? She has an idea what to do next._

Her knees trembled; her fingers came up to the edge of her desk and clenched, the only prop she would let herself have. Okay. Okay.

He was fine.

She pushed it away, swallowed it, made sure the stupid, nonsensical gratitude was all gone before she texted back and affirmative.

She had never been good at waiting, at staying behind.

Surely that was all this was.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Better Fate**

* * *

Jack Coonan wasn't at his apartment. Kate had taken Castle to the bar as a way of giving him and past Beckett a window on the case, but she'd always intended to come here the second she was alone.

But Coonan wasn't here. Not yet anyway.

Kate had sent Beckett and Castle to the bus terminal and the locker where Coonan had stashed the Johnny Vong heroin - but of course, she hadn't told them about Coonan. She knew that would take up the rest of their day - they'd be forced to book it into evidence and then go talk to Vong, bring him to the precinct and interrogate him.

They wouldn't have the Dick Coonan connection, because Kate had refused to give Castle Jack's name, but Vong would send them on a tangential track that might actually get them somewhere. The Westies wanted the drug dealing stopped in their territory, and Kate had just given Beckett the meaty case she'd need to stay clear away from Coonan as an assassin - it would only be Coonan the drug dealer - if Vong flipped at all, and he might not, now that there was no threat.

A lot of ifs, but this was all Kate had.

Without the body of Jack Coonan - which hopefully those two would never see - Lanie would never make the connection to her mother's murder, Dr Murray would never be called, she would never have that moment in the conference room where it felt like the rug was being pulled out from under her. None of that information would be brought up, the rabbit hole would not open.

That had to be the reason for this, being thrown back in time without warning, without even some damn instructions.

It had to be for this.

If the case was never brought to light again, then Castle would never be shot.

While they checked into the heroin smuggling, Kate tried to figure out where Jack Coonan might go, if not his own apartment. It was already well past work hours, so his friends and other gang members might be around, just drunk enough to talk.

Kate started checking out bars in the Westies' territory, going down a mental list she had to recreate almost out of thin air. Cutting through an alley towards a dark corner, she remembered Molly Dearing, the girlfriend, and tracked her down to a bar.

It was crowded and there were a lot of girls, but Molly was the same as Kate remembered, pretty but no different from the scores of girls who grew up in Westies territory and might never escape, might only ever be Westies girls.

"Molly, you don't know me, but I know Jack."

"Jacky?" the dark-haired woman said, lifting her head from her beer and sliding away from her friends. "You've - has he contacted you?" A sliver of jealousy was in the woman's eyes.

"No, actually, he hasn't. That's why I'm here. He hasn't gotten in touch with you either, has he?"

Molly bit her lip, her eyes darting away.

Kate sensed her reluctance to talk inside the bar, with so many of the Westies around, and she nodded towards the doors. "I'm just going to take a little walk."

As she left, she was pretty sure she had a few eyes on her, and not in that beautiful-woman-aroused way, but in that cop-suspicions-aroused way. She pushed open the door and walked across the street, well away from the windows of the bar. After a long five minutes, Molly came hurrying towards her.

"Molly-"

"Who are you? What do you know about Jack?" She gripped Kate's arm tightly.

"I'm Detective Beckett. Jack's in trouble. You know what he does for Rourke-"

"Of course I know. That's - well, that's part of what attracted me to him." Molly scoffed at the look on Kate's face. "What? You telling me you never had a thing for bad boys?"

Kate pressed her lips together, stunned at how much things never changed. "I have, but let me tell you, when you get a bad boy who wants to change for you? Those are the ones you keep."

Molly blinked, her eyes filling with tears, but her hand relaxing around Kate's wrist. "We're planning on going away somewhere. Far away. He wants out. We spend every night together - he can't sleep without me beside him, but lately he won't let me even come over. I don't know what's happened to him."

Damn. Kate hoped she wasn't too late. "Molly, it's possible Jack has gone to the FBI-"

"Oh God," Molly moaned, pressing a hand to her mouth. "They'll kill him. The Westies will kill him-"

"Someone - someone will," she said softly. "I need to know where he might be, where he'd hole up-"

"Well, really, his apartment. He's got enough weapons to wage his own war. But he hasn't answered my calls, and I can't get him to-"

"Okay, okay," Kate said, soothing her with both hands on the woman's shoulders. She squeezed and looked Molly in the eyes. "Molly, let me give you my partner's phone number. You call me if Jack contacts you, okay?"

But he wouldn't, she knew that. Somewhere between now and a week from now, Jack Coonan would hole up at his apartment, knowing that his life was threatened, but be taken off guard when his own brother stabbed him mercilessly - again and again.

* * *

It started raining as she was about halfway to Castle's loft. Kate had just passed a subway station and she hesitated, shrugged, went back.

After all, she didn't have any clothes to change into if she got drenched. Although Castle would certainly not mind lending her some-

No, no, no. She couldn't let herself think like that.

He wasn't her Castle yet; he was a little too eager, unsure of her, and he still had some of that playboy vibe to him. Granted, it was much less noticeable than it had been when they'd worked that first case together, but it was still...dormant.

She'd always said she wouldn't be a notch on his bedpost.

A mom and her little girl came in at the next stop, took the seats in front of Kate that had just been vacated. The girl was probably three or four, big grey-green eyes, a straight, cute little nose, a lovely rosebud of a mouth; she kept pointing things out to her mother and smiling, smiling, such innocence and joy in her little face that Kate's heart tightened in sorrow.

She would never have that.

She'd never have an adorable daughter who would hold her hand tight in the subway, giggle at the things she said, her wide blue eyes just like her daddy's-

She didn't know how long she made herself abjectly miserable with that thought, but when she looked up again, came out of the haze, it was her stop. Kate jumped to her feet, blinking back the mist that had started to gather in her eyes, made her way through the crowd, murmuring excuses every time she bumped into someone.

Once she was out on the platform, she drew a long, shaky breath, pushed her hair back.

She needed to stop this. It wasn't doing her any good. She couldn't change any of it. What she could change-

was the case. The Coonan case.

_Focus on that_, _Kate._

* * *

Castle had given her a key; she knocked first, but it seemed no one else was there. Kate slid the red keyring out of her pocket - it was an extra, apparently - and couldn't help her fingers from lingering over the key, brushing against the cold metal.

Maybe this was the same key she had in _her _present.

But hers wasn't pristine like this one, far from it. She'd had it for years, and it had a number of scratches, dents, like the one she'd made that time when she'd dropped it in front of the door, because Castle's hand was under her dress and she couldn't _focus-_

She sighed and pushed the memory away, opened the door; but her skin continued to burn with the phantom touch of Castle's fingers long after Kate had put the key back where it belonged.

* * *

"You think Ryan would really put 300 bucks in that Johnny Vong scam?"

Castle was sitting in Beckett's car; obviously, she was driving. Her eyes were intent on the road, but he had a feeling that there was more to the sharp set of her jaw, the stubborn line of her brow.

Hence his attempt at a neutral, fun, Ryan-oriented conversation.

It almost worked; her lips relaxed for an instant, close to a smile, and she gave a light shrug. "Don't know, Castle. He was still watching the tapes when we left, wasn't he?"

The writer grinned. "You noticed."

"Of course I noticed," she said, with an eyeroll that delighted him. "Ryan is about as subtle as an elephant when he's trying to hide something."

"I would have thought after hearing the part about the Harvard MBA, he'd have understood how fake it all was," Castle went on pensively, looking through the window at a woman who was hurrying down the sidewalk, trying to shield herself from the rain.

"But when you think about it, the Harvard MBA can also be pretty reassuring," Beckett pointed out. "At least the guy knows what he's doing."

He hummed, unconvinced, and then he caught a glimpse of a restaurant's window, realized where they were. "Ohh, Beckett, stop," he urged, head swiveling back to hers. She braked suddenly, eliciting a few protesting honks from the following cars, and stopped on the side of the road, concern in her dark eyes. "What? Castle, what?"

Oh. Uh. "Ah - nothing - I just - there's this Thai restaurant that just opened here, and we might as well get take out for us and, the, future..." His voice trailed off at the intensity of her glare.

"Are you _serious?_" she growled, then slammed her palms into her eyes, as if not seeing him was the only way she could _not punch him_ (which seemed like a great plan, actually). "Castle."

"I'm sorry?" he tried, wincing when his voice came out a little too girly. "I just meant, hey, could we please stop here-"

"Just. Get out of the car," Beckett told him, hands still covering her face.

Was she - was she actually kicking him out?

"Beckett-"

"Just go get your damn food, Castle," she hissed, finally looking at him. "I'll wait here. Try to park a little better."

Ohhh, right. "Yes. Okay." He unbuckled his belt, opened his door, then turned back to her. "Any suggestions as to what I should order for you or. . .you?"

"_Castle_."

"Right. Yeah. Anything. Got it." He ran out in the rain, glad he had his back to her.

She'd probably have killed him if she could have seen the grin on his face.

* * *

When they walked into his elevator, Beckett was back to being serious, her eyes shuttered, her face emotionless. Castle shifted the bag of food to his other hand, held back a sigh. He didn't like that she was made so uncomfortable by the presence of her future self, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it.

He understood, at least in part - he'd seen enough of Beckett to know that she was a highly rational person, someone who didn't believe in supernatural beings, in aliens, in science-fiction. Or in ninja assassins.

And while she couldn't deny the existence of the other Kate, he felt like she was still trying to resist it, ignore it as best as she could. Like some part of her felt...insulted? by this obvious breach of her personal beliefs.

Of course, it didn't help that FutureKate was engaged to him. Which he was slowly starting to find completely _awesome_.

When Beckett stepped out of the elevator in front of him, the hall light caught and shimmered in her straight, shoulder-length hair; he found himself wondering what it would feel like against his fingers, if it would be just as soft as Kate's longer waves.

He closed his eyes for a second.

This was not - not a good train of thought.

Get it together, Rick.

Beckett paused in front of his door, and he fished his keys from his pocket, hesitated for a second. "Where do you think she went this afternoon?"

He'd been wondering ever since Kate had sent them to the locker that led to Johnny Vong, then parted ways, saying she had_ business to take care of on her own._

"I don't know," Beckett replied coolly, looking pointedly at the doorknob. He ignored her.

"Think she'll tell us?"

The detective sighed, gave him a dark look. "No, Castle. I don't think she will. Now, will you please open the door?"

Well, there went his attempt at cajoling her out of her mood. He shrugged and did as he was told.

He hoped marriage to Kate wasn't just more of this.

* * *

So. It was...kinda strange, having dinner with Castle and her younger self.

_Kinda strange_? Kate shook her head, mentally laughing at herself. It was downright weird. Only the years spent with her Castle could be responsible for her being so levelheaded about it. And he'd brought Thai food from their favorite place - a restaurant that they went to at least once a week - and tasting it on her tongue almost made her forget.

Almost.

She asked them all about Vong, even though she already knew most of it - she was curious to see how much had changed because of the missing Coonan link, and how much had stayed the same.

Of course, Beckett was reserved, reluctant to part with any information pertaining to her case, but Castle had no scruples sharing. He did, however, stop in the middle of depicting Vong's terror when he finally saw the way his partner was looking at him.

Glaring, rather.

"What did _you_ do all this time?" the younger Beckett asked, traces of accusation in her voice that she didn't bother to hide.

Kate smiled. "Nothing interesting. Dead ends all."

"What if we want to know anyway?" Beckett insisted, that crease in her brow that always showed when she wouldn't let go of something.

"You don't," Kate replied smoothly, calmly. This she could use to her advantage - the self-control, the detachment that the years had given her. At thirty, she was still playing at self-possessed; oh, she thought she was great, and she did have a good poker face, but everything else betrayed her emotions.

The set of her shoulders, the stiff way she was sitting, her suddenly too-quiet voice. It almost saddened Kate, to realize how much she still had to learn, to understand.

Her younger self slammed her chopsticks on the table, leaned back into her chair, her mouth tight and her eyes averted.

"Beckett-" Castle started pleadingly, but the detective was already standing up, eyes burning into Kate's now.

"This is the way you want to play it, then? You use us as pawns without actually telling us anything. You think we'll go for that?"

"I'm only trying to protect-"

"Bullshit," Beckett snarled. "I'm out of here." She spun on her heels and grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair, a brisk, angry move that Kate remembered, oh, so very well.

"Beckett," Castle called, rising from his chair.

Amazing, how things played out. Kate watched, entranced, as the writer took a few steps after her younger self. "Kate," he called again, but Beckett didn't turn, didn't acknowledge him.

The door slammed and Castle remained, suspended, hesitant, alone in the middle of his living room.

In the end, he turned and came back to the table, looking forlorn and very much the kicked puppy.

"She'll come around," Kate said, the only comfort that she could offer him.

At least, she hoped Beckett would. Whatever Kate had been sent back for, it certainly wasn't to come between these two.

Castle half shrugged, and started cleaning the table quietly.

"Dessert?" he said. But all of his earlier eagerness was gone.

And she'd done that to him.

* * *

He felt like he was some kind of traitor.

He was on Beckett's team; maybe he should have gone after her, even though she'd more or less slammed the door in his face, even though she'd looked like the last thing she wanted was company.

But he hadn't.

Instead he'd served Kate ice-cream, had offered her wine - to which she'd disagreed with his choice and asked for a different label, and she was right, it was better, and she knew exactly which rack to get it from - and now she was sitting on his couch, flushed and smiling and gorgeous, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

Again. To kiss her again.

He took a deep breath, gulped down some more wine. He was on Beckett's team; he had to remember that.

But if...

What she didn't know couldn't hurt her, right? And this _was_ Beckett. A softer, in love with him version.

Kate rested her head against the back of the couch, closing her eyes, and the beautiful line of her throat caused every thought in his brain to blip out of existence.

"Tired?" he rasped, hoped she wouldn't hear the naked desire in his voice.

"Exhausted," she agreed softly.

Her skin seemed to absorb the gentle light and then return it, the way it glowed, glistened in the dimness; her collarbone made pools of shadow that he wanted to drink from.

"You can take Alexis's bedroom, or my mother's," he heard himself say. "And of course, any clothes that you need."

Her eyes opened in a sweep of lashes, dark and deep, surprise shimmering in them. She looked at him for a long time, and he saw the realization settle in, and he knew that for a moment there, she'd forgotten.

He'd made her forget he wasn't - wasn't the man she had said yes to.

Castle's heart twisted in his chest.

"Right," Kate said at last, slowly. "Yes, I should go to bed."

"If you need _anything_-" he started, but she was already standing up, moving away, retreating towards the stairs.

"Thank you, Castle," she told him, her voice low and warm and beautiful, but so sad, and all he could do was watch the graceful play of her legs as she put space, and more space, between them.

He was an idiot.

* * *

Kate scissored her legs against the cool, smooth sheets of the guest bedroom, sighed, tried closing her eyes again.

She hadn't wanted to sleep in just her underwear, so she'd borrowed an oversized t-shirt from Alexis's closet. It was probably an old one of Castle's, actually, and the soft, worn fabric brushed her skin in the nicest way, let it breathe.

And she was so tired.

But sleep stubbornly eluded her, refused her the comfort and oblivion that she longed for. She could not turn her brain off, could not stop thinking about the _what ifs, _all the tiny details she had to take into consideration, all the ways she could mess this up. And why - if she'd gone back in time - why was she not changing her own memories of this December?

And then. It was one thing to deal with Coonan, to keep this Beckett from ever learning the part that the man had played in her mother's murder. But even if she did - would it be enough? What happened when Raglan called this Beckett, wanting to unburden himself?

Wouldn't she be sucked back into her mother's case then, thus ruining all of Kate's efforts now?

And at the back of her mind, Castle's blue eyes kept looking into her with so much love, so much trust, and then there was the gunshot and his body crumpled, a constant reminder of what she stood to lose, how important it was that she not _screw this up._

She sucked in a long, trembling breath, rolled onto her side but the whole thing felt off.

It was the wrong bed.

It was the wrong bed, and tonight, more than any night, more than any other time in her life, she needed Castle. Oh, how badly she needed him. Home. She wanted her home. She was so tired and she just wanted to go home.

Kate pushed back the covers, slid to her feet, didn't let herself think about it.

She went to him.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Better Fate**

* * *

Castle had left his bedroom door half-open, more of a pitiful wish than anything else really, but he couldn't stop thinking about her.

As he brushed his teeth, as he changed into his pajamas, as he turned off the light, he saw her face, or rather _their faces_, superimposed, the woman of now and the woman of the future, a pressed-lips smile that evolved into a brighter, fuller, even more beautiful one.

She was burned onto his eyelids, was everywhere in his mind, and when, after a long time spent in the dark, he first heard the soft padding of feet outside his door, he thought he was dreaming.

The quiet tiptoeing stopped, however, and he heard a slow intake of breath, so subtle it couldn't be anyone but her.

He was awake; he sat up, hardly daring to hope.

"Kate?"

His eyes strained for her, the long shadow standing at his door, the pale face he couldn't quite make out; he held his breath as he waited for her answer.

And then he couldn't wait.

"Come here," he invited quietly.

She shuffled inside, coming to the left side of the bed, navigating his dark bedroom with an assurance that pleased something deep in him; he scooted closer, but she sat down at the very edge of his mattress, carefully holding herself away from him.

He could see her better now, the pale glow of the moon helping; she looked shaken and vulnerable and breaking, although there were no traces of tears on her cheeks.

"Kate," he breathed, surprised at how undone he was, just by that look on her face. "What's wrong?"

"It's not the right bed," she murmured, and in her voice he heard the tears she wouldn't let stream down her face. Oh god, oh Kate- "I just - I want to sleep in our bed. Please."

Damn_._ Their bed. Of course. And he'd been like an idiot, offering her the guest room in what should be, would be her own home-

"Of course. Kate - you shouldn't even have to ask - I'll just - I'll sleep on the couch, okay? I'll leave you-"

"_No_," she said immediately, the sound of it so urgent, desperate that it made him pause. "No," she said again, softer this time. "You - you should be here too."

Shit, shit. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, tried to ignore how hot her words made him. She didn't mean to; she was upset and brittle and _come on, _he was better than that.

He hoped he was.

Maybe he wasn't.

"I won't - I'll stay on my side," Kate murmured (as if she needed to _convince_ him). "Just sleeping, I promise, just so I can get to sleep-"

"Get in bed," he told her, couldn't take any more of her soft-voiced promises, not when he wanted so badly to have her break them. "Come on, Kate."

She exhaled slowly, pushed back the covers and slid her slim body between the sheets - he was thankful, oh, so thankful, to see that she was wearing a ratty, shapeless old t-shirt that covered most of her. Only her legs were bare, and they disappeared from his view fairly quickly. If not quickly enough.

Kate curled onto her side, facing him, letting out an imperceptible sigh of relief when her head hit the pillow; she had to be exhausted, had looked worn earlier, and he couldn't quite understand how she wasn't asleep yet.

"Better?" he couldn't help asking, and she only hummed in response, so low, beautiful.

God, he wanted to touch her.

He waited for a handful of seconds, then gingerly brushed his fingers against the dark, silky curtain of her hair, pushing it back to uncover her neck. She hummed again, very quietly, and he curled his hand at her nape, amazed, enchanted.

This woman-

"Love you," she sighed, the words indistinct, inarticulate, and yet somehow so clear.

It was a long time before he remembered how to breathe.

* * *

He was here. He was alive.

He was here.

Kate slept.

* * *

He woke at the sudden jar of a body coming into contact with his. It took him a moment to realize what had happened, where he was, and then sensation returned in a rush.

Kate was nuzzled into his back. Not unpleasantly, but-

Oh damn. He was awake now.

Her hand - jeez, this wasn't fair. This really wasn't fair, because Beckett would absolutely kill him if he took liberties with her future, and yet her future wanted him, pretty badly he thought, and she was right now pressed against him with her fingers practically tucked into the waistband of his boxers, breathing deeply, so deeply that he could feel every rise and fall of her chest.

Shit.

He had to move.

Castle slid an inch or so forward - big bed, it was a California king; he was stupidly grateful - and then turned on his back once he had enough room. Kate was curled in the middle of his bed (their bed, she'd asked to sleep in their bed) and her arm was curled against her chest with that hand right there, same hand, beautiful hand, hot fingers, and he couldn't help reaching out and stroking the line of her forearm.

She might be dreaming, she might just be used to curling up at his back, she might only be cold. How would he know?

But she was beautiful. And she was _hope._ He had hope when he looked at her, hope that Beckett did eventually turn around and see him, really see him, for what he was and not what he'd been, not what his public relations team made him out to be.

She was captivating and sensual and fierce and intelligent and he wanted her in his bed.

But also-

Also this.

He'd never thought it through before today, hadn't exactly been picturing another commitment, but he could see it now.

Could see her, here, in _their_ bed. Somehow, in the space of five years, Beckett turned into Kate. Beautiful, real, and vulnerable to him.

He could wait for this - for this woman right here. Five years or five months or however long it took; he could wait for this. Now that he'd seen her, now that he knew, without a doubt, that Kate Beckett was more than a muse. . .

He would do anything to make that future happen.

* * *

"Detective Beckett!"

Kate sucks in a breath and feels the mask over her face, the clatter of wheels, the jostling of strangers over her, but she can't open her eyes.

"Detective Beckett, Kate. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

Hand. What hand?

"I need trauma one cleared out, right now. Move, move."

Wait, wait, too fast. Going too fast. She can't open her eyes. Strobes of light flash over her lids, but she can't move.

Hazy voices now. Growing indistinct. She can't move - towards or away - she's lying down, she can't breathe with all this weight on her chest.

_Get up, Kate. Open your eyes. Get up._

A blurred darkness, a vision of too-bright light that she shuts her eyes against. Everything aches, oh God, she's being broken in half, her skull collapsing, her ribs crushed-

"Detective Beckett, you were shot. Can you hear me? You were shot, but we've got you now."

Not enough; it's not enough. She's already dying.

* * *

He woke up with Kate Beckett.

He _woke up with Kate Beckett._

She was still here. There was something so surreal, so crazy about that sentence; it was almost ridiculous. And yet, and yet, his disbelieving heart pounded-

It was true.

He rolled onto his side as delicately as he could, affording himself a better view of her; she was sound asleep, her lips pink and parted, her dark eyelashes stunning against the cream of her skin. His fingers burned to thread through the long, messy curls that hid the glorious line of her neck.

Before he could act on it, however, the door of his bedroom swung open and the familiar voice of his mother called, "Richard-"

Martha paused theatrically when she saw that he had company, and he thought he could see a flash of genuine surprise in her eyes when she realized who it was, before the look on her face turned to one of knowing interest.

"Mother," he hissed, sitting up and gesturing her towards the door. They'd had this conversation about privacy only weeks ago-

She swirled around, eyebrows still arched at him, and she pointedly walked out of his room. Castle sighed, looked down at Kate; her eyelids were fluttering like she was struggling towards consciousness. She must have been deeply asleep, if even his mother's entrance hadn't been enough to rouse her.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek because he was that damn stupid, yes he was, and found his lips sliding towards her mouth of their own accord.

"Sleep, Kate," he murmured. She looked like she needed it. "I'll be right back."

She made a sort of humming sound that he took for an agreement, and he slid out of bed as discreetly as he could. He grabbed a sweater on the way out, pulled it over his head; his mother was already in the kitchen, making coffee.

"So, I guess congratulations are in order, kiddo," she said without looking at him.

He grunted, didn't want to discuss Kate, Beckett, any of it. He was kinda confused, actually- "Mother. Aren't you supposed to be at that - what was it - acting retreat or something?"

Martha heaved a deep sigh, threw a weary hand in the air. "I quit, Richard. Didn't even make it through the first day. All these pompous asses - all they wanted was to be told they were the best, and it was really a shame that they didn't get all the great parts. Ugh. No, thank you very much."

"Really?" the writer smirked. "That seems like your kind of thing."

She finished pouring herself a cup, then narrowed her eyes as she turned to him. "Hilarious, darling, as always. But I see how it is. You're worried I'll ruin this love nest thing you've got going here. You want me out of the loft."

He did, although it was not for the reasons she imagined.

"Well, don't worry," his mother said triumphantly. "As it happens, I...reconnected with an old friend of mine at that retreat - it will at least have been good for _something_ - and he suggested that we do our own private acting session, at your house, in the Hamptons."

Castle opened his mouth to ask what a _private acting session_ might involve, then winced - he didn't want to know. Even if it was at his house.

"It seems like a brilliant idea to me," Martha glowed, smoothing her red hair with her free hand.

"Seems like a terrible idea to me," the writer objected, but he hadn't meant to speak the words out loud. Thank god his mother was in a good mood.

"Nonsense, darling," she said, waving him off. "I do not plan on marrying the man, and it's only a couple days. Until after New Year's Eve. We're just - going to have a little fun." She smiled at him, devious like only his mother knew how. "And speaking of fun-" her eyes very deliberately trailed to his bedroom, came back to his face. "Seems like Detective Beckett finally gave in to your charms."

He kept silent; denying would do him no good, and Martha would never believe him if he told her the truth.

"I must say, I'm a little disappointed," she went on. "I, well, had expected her to resist somewhat longer than this. She seemed to be one who enjoyed the chase."

His lips parted in indignation, although he wasn't sure who he should defend - himself, or Beckett, or both, but before he could figure it out his mother had already skirted around him, heading for the stairs.

"I'll grab a few things from my room, darling, and then I'll be out of your hair, I promise."

He stared back, always helpless in the morning against the whirlwind that was his mother; she paused unexpectedly in the middle of the stairs, turned back to him. "I do hope you know what you're doing, Richard," she told him, more earnest than he'd seen her in a while. "She's a woman you should hang on to."

His mother was right, he reflected, as he slowly walked back to his bedroom - the ring on Kate's finger spoke of his desire to hang on to her with blinding clarity.

Eventually.

But there was a problem Martha couldn't solve for him; he couldn't hang on to _both _of them.

* * *

"Are you coming over?" he whispered.

Beckett groaned and rolled over in bed. "Castle. What the hell time is it?"

"I know. It's a switch, isn't it? Me waking you up before six-"

"It's before six and I _haven't_ gotten a call from dispatch, and yet you're still waking me up?" she growled, sliding out of bed because he was right. Damn. He was right.

"Well, isn't that the point? We need to do this before you're called in to work, right?"

"Fine."

"Beckett?"

"What?" she snarled, stumbling into her bathroom.

"Are you coming-"

"_Yes_, Castle. Jeez."

"Oh - okay."

"Let me shower. I'll be there in thirty."

"Yeah, yeah, shower. Kate's showering too-"

"Castle."

He paused; she heard him rethinking that last statement and she found herself definitely awake now.

"Uh, yeah. Right. Um. See you in thirty."

He hung up and she threw her phone back towards her bed, furious and impotent and hating herself. Hating her own damn self.

* * *

Castle found Kate's shirt in the guest bathroom and sighed to himself - no doubt his mother had seen it as well. It was rather worse for wear, and he remembered handing her bag of possessions over to her in the hospital yesterday so she could change and he could drive her home.

Back when he assumed it was Beckett and not-

not his future fiancée.

She'd need a clean shirt. Castle slipped into his daughter's room and searched her closet for something dressed up - something detective appropriate - found the jade green blouse she wore to the Marlowe Honors Symposium this year, and took it off the hanger.

He started downstairs, tossed Kate's shirt into the laundry room, and headed for his bedroom. She'd woken when he'd come slinking back to bed, and instead of going back to sleep, she'd gotten that socked-in-the-gut look on her face and gotten up.

As if she'd been thinking, for a while there, that it had all been a dream.

He opened his bedroom door and stumbled to a halt.

She was standing next to his bed. In her underwear. Black lace bra. Smooth, taut skin and-

Oh God.

"What is that?"

"Castle," she warned. But she didn't turn from him. Standing in just black panties and a bra, her pants in one hand. "You - you need to turn around."

But he couldn't. Because it wasn't just - not just the black lace that had his eyes riveted, but the round scar between her breasts.

"Kate," he hissed, coming forward, unable to look away. He lifted a hand, flinched at the sudden vision of his fingers at her chest, had to stop. When he raised his head to meet her eyes, she was uncompromising and unashamed and completely Beckett.

He'd never realized before just how much Beckett let him see of her true self.

"You were shot."

She nodded once.

"When?"

"I can't-"

"Yes, you _can_ tell me. You were _shot_. Before the bullet that sent you traveling through time, because this is _healed, _and this means it's - this is stuff I need to know, Kate."

"No."

"Yes. Your life may depend on it."

"My life has already happened."

"You don't know that. You can't know that. What if you're here to prevent your life from happening the way it happened? What if I can stop this, we can stop-"

Kate reached out for his still hovering, afraid-to-touch hand and squeezed her fingers around his, her eyes so damn tender it made his chest hurt. "What do you think I'm doing?" She lifted his palm to her lips and pressed a kiss to his skin, solemn and apologetic.

"Kate."

"This isn't for you. I'm the expendable one. I don't belong. There is a future event I am working hard to keep from happening, Rick-"

His knees went weak at the sound of his name, at the fervent and fatal hope in her voice, and he bowed forward, drew his arms around her and pulled her into him. "Kate. Kate. I will be in love with you. I will - for my own sake, I have to - you have to tell me. You have to tell me because if I'm not already, then I will be, and you owe it to me."

She made a noise against him, a kind of grief he'd not heard from her last night but which had been there in her eyes.

And it wasn't because she would be shot, had been shot; it wasn't the scar on her chest.

"I can't. I don't know - I'm afraid to change too much," she whispered. She drew away from him, pushed him back, but then she grabbed his hand and pressed it against the scar. He could feel the wild and erotic beat of her heart, the ridge of scar tissue, and the tantalizing slope of her breasts rising to either side of his fingers.

"Kate."

"This is a part of our story, Castle." She closed her eyes, and he saw the lone tear slip down her cheek; she didn't bother to brush it away, and it was only the one. "This may be a vital part to our story, and I can't - I can't run the risk of unmaking all the beautiful parts just because of this one tragic scene."

* * *

Beckett wasn't sure what she walked in on, but the air was redolent with it. His eyes were shadowed, and she hated herself a little more because she knew it was her fault - here and now herself, or her future self (shit, _shit_, future self?) - and she had never wanted to drag him down into her own tragic darkness.

His joy, his delight in life - those were the things that drew her to him, and she didn't want to see this new, nuanced depth to his eyes.

"Beckett," he said and stood with his hands on his hips, hesitant.

"Yeah," she said, and knew it was a signal she was giving in. Whatever they had to do, she would do it.

The woman sat down on Castle's couch and that seemed an invitation to the rest of them; Castle sat beside her, not as much space between them as Beckett would like, and Beckett sat on the edge of the coffee table, perched there as if she needed to flee.

She did. Honestly, she wanted to leave. But-

"Fill me in on Vong."

"How about you fill us in on your activities instead?" Beckett snapped.

Castle nudged her shin with his foot and she shot him her best deadly glare, but he didn't react. It was like it hadn't worked at all. Like he was immune.

Her heart pounded.

"I went looking for a man who will be murdered," Kate said into the silence.

Beckett turned back to her. "You're preventing a murder. A case I get?"

"A case you get."

"Then tell me-"

"It's Jack, isn't it?" Castle said. Beckett cut her eyes to him, surprised that he had information she didn't, her breath catching as she realized that they'd shared more than just glances all night, more than a shower.

No, no they hadn't _shared_ a shower. He had just allowed her to use-

Damn, she hated this. Jealous and repulsed by her own damn self.

"Jack. Who is Jack?" she bit out, her eyes on Castle for the answer. He cowed at her look for a moment, but found his spine and glared back at her, and that was totally _not acceptable._ What had this woman _said_ to him that gave him such confidence?

"Jack is who we went looking for at the bar."

Beckett bristled. "You said you were going after Rourke-"

"She did. She found him and asked about Jack after that. I got the impression he's some kind of Westies enforcer." Castle glanced to the woman, and she looked chagrined. She probably hadn't meant to let that much out.

"Westies enforcer," Beckett said, mulling that over. "Why do you care - why do _I_ care about some gangland dispute?"

The woman kept her mouth closed.

"Jeez, seriously? This is ridiculous. There are things we ought to know if we're-"

"Beckett," Castle said softly. Then he reached out and took her by the hand _as if that was okay_, and she jerked back instinctively, saw the hurt on his face, and then fumbled stupidly as she darted back to snag his fingers, holding on a little too desperately. And she didn't know why really, she just - damn, she wanted him with her, on her team-

Kate sagged suddenly, her chest caving in as she breathed raggedly, a hand pressed against her sternum.

Beckett felt herself clutching at Castle even as both of them turned towards the woman.

"Kate? Are you-"

She lifted her head and her eyes were wide, panicked; she looked like she couldn't catch her breath.

Castle dislodged Beckett's hand and reached for Kate; Beckett's heart twisted at his move away from her; Kate suddenly straightened, sinking back into the couch cushions as she gasped for breath.

She waved Castle off, closed her eyes.

"What was that?" Beckett asked, narrowing her eyes at first Kate and then Castle. Oh shit, _shit_, this was her own _self _she was sitting in front of. This was herself. She was both the woman on the couch who was wearing Rick Castle's ring and she was also here, right now, the woman who would never, in a million years she thought, but now she would, and in only five years-

"I'm okay," Kate breathed, eyes opening. "I'm okay. I don't know. It just - somehow - maybe a side effect of time travel. . .oh jeez, I sound psychotic-"

"No, you don't. You're _here_," Castle hissed. "Are we all psychotic?"

"Or products of my hospitalized brain-"

"Wait. What?" Beckett said, leaning forward as if that could pull the information out of the woman. Kate. _Kate_. He called her Kate, and sometimes, sometimes, oh she wanted to hear that rough rasp of his voice in her ear as he asked, one more time, _We can debrief-_

Kate sucked in a breath, hunched over again, and Beckett saw Castle's hand at her shoulder blade, the other on her knee, and her heart flipped over-

Kate straightened, but this time, even though her breathing was returning to normal, a terrible horror was in her eyes. "I'm - I think I'm getting. . .erased."

"What?" Beckett laughed, startled and seriously freaked out by the certainty in the woman's voice. "Are you kidding me?"

Castle was quiet; he turned dark eyes to Beckett, as if he believed whole-heartedly in every word, and oh jeez, oh my God, he did. Didn't he? He believed it. And if he believed it, then she. . .

"Beckett. You've seen the movies - think about it."

The movies? "This isn't a movie, this is-"

"Real," Kate interrupted. "And something I've done here in this time, something is tugging me - out of existence."

Oh God.

"Does that mean you've already changed the Event?" Castle asked softly.

Beckett's chest squeezed. "The event? You say it like it's a capital E event. What-"

Kate's eyes flickered to hers. _It was_. Beckett had spent all her life looking into the mirror on January 9th, looking at herself and her grief for what it was, and she saw it now in her own eyes - not her eyes, but _hers_ - Kate's.

Grief.

Would she never be free of that darkness?


	8. Chapter 8

**A Better Fate**

* * *

Kate checked the street before she crossed, lifted her head to look at the building. She hardly remembered it. Yesterday when Coonan hadn't answered, she'd thought maybe she'd gotten the address wrong, so she'd looked it up again to be sure. Funny, because she remembered so many things about the Coonan case - so many details engraved forever in her memory - but Jack Coonan's residence was not one of them.

She wondered if it was just that it'd been five years, or if it was that she'd _gone back_ five years. Was her memory loss a product of traveling through time (oh, shit, she sounded insane, even to herself), or a product of time itself?

The building was actually fairly unnoticeable, six or seven floors, modern and rather nice-enough-looking; not at all what you would expect when you knew anything about Coonan and his Westies connections.

She pressed her lips together, took a deep breath, and climbed the flight of stairs that stood between her and the building's front door.

Today there was an official-looking guy in the lobby, unlike yesterday, a man in his sixties who had abundant grey hair and high eyebrows that made him look perpetually astonished - lobby security or doorman or something. She told him she was here to see Jack Coonan, and he shook his head.

"Sorry, lady, but Mr. Coonan ain't here. In fact, I haven't seen him at all in the last week. Got no idea where he might have run off to - you see, when people here go on holiday, they usually let me know, so I'll hold the paper so it won't pile up outside the door. But Mr. Coonan, nothing; not a word. He's a mysterious man, that one-"

"You're absolutely sure he's not here, then?" Kate didn't know what to believe; she remembered Coonan had died holed up in his place, which meant he had to be here at some point. He didn't answer the door yesterday, but he could just be avoiding visitors. Was he already here, and the doorman didn't know?

It was possible.

"I'm sure he's not here," was the answer she got.

Kate bit her lower lip, considered her options.

"I'm sorry," the doorman told her. "We've got a pretty strict policy about not letting people up without the tenant to ID them. I mean, I told exactly the same to his brother who was here the other day-"

"His brother?" Dick Coonan. Kate's stomach flipped.

"Yep. Doesn't matter if you're family or not; if the person you've come to see isn't in, Joe can't let you through."

Shit. Shit. Dick Coonan had been here. What if Jack was already dead up there?

But if the doorman hadn't let Dick in-

Oh, who was she kidding. Dick Coonan probably know other ways to get in, ways that didn't include sweet-talking good ol' Joe. Joe who hadn't even been here yesterday to guard the elevators.

"Joe," she said, moving closer, choosing her words carefully. "I'm...a little worried about Jack. See, I was talking to his girlfriend just yesterday-"

"Oh, Molly, you mean? Molly's such a sweetheart. Always stops to talk me, always a kind word. Really, if all girls were like her-"

"Yes, yes, you're right. Molly's wonderful. And, you know, she's very worried about Jack. He hasn't called her, and she hasn't seen him around - she's afraid something's happened to him."

"Something. You mean - something bad?"

"Yes, Joe, something bad." She was fairly sure that getting sneaked up on and then stabbed multiple times by your younger brother counted as _something bad_.

"Oh," the man said, obviously processing the information. He lifted a hand to his forehead, scratched his temple.

"You-" Kate hesitated, but she might as well give it a shot. "You probably have a master copy of all the keys, right? Do you think you could maybe use it, just check that he's passed out upstairs or worse?"

Joe looked absolutely torn. She almost felt bad for him.

"Ah, see, I'm not really supposed to _do _that... I might even lose my job if people found out. I mean, I suppose I could let the police use the key, but..." He mulled over that, and she didn't offer up the information. "Then again, if it's for darling Molly, and she's worried sick-"

"She is," Kate confirmed with a nod. "She's really afraid."

Joe heaved a deep sigh, relented.

"Okay. Okay. You wait for me here, yeah? I'll grab the key, go upstairs. It won't take long."

"Sure," Kate said with relief. "Thank you."

"Anything for little Molly," the man said with a fond, begrudging smile, and then he was retrieving a keyring from a drawer, heading for the elevator.

Kate leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and prayed.

* * *

The place was empty; no trace of Jack.

Kate stared at Joe, disbelieving but oh, so grateful. She remembered the body sprawled on the living room floor, the pool of blood underneath it; there was no way even Joe could have missed it.

"Oh, Molly's going to be so relieved," she said, earning a smile from the man. "Thank you so much."

"Ah, don't mention it. And tell her I said hi."

"I will," Kate assured, although she had no plan to see Molly again. "Thanks."

She walked out of the building, stunned, heart pounding in her chest. Jack Coonan wasn't dead in his apartment. Jack Coonan was...alive somewhere. Oh, god. So she'd managed, right? She'd managed to change things?

For now.

She needed - what was today's date again? December 29th. Shit, shit, she couldn't remember when exactly she had gotten the Coonan case; she had been trying all day yesterday to pinpoint it, but she couldn't be sure.

There was another issue, too, the question of how long Jack had been dead when she'd been called to the scene; as long as she remembered neither of those things, she couldn't really hope to-

Oh god.

She was walking up the street where Jack lived, slowly, trying to decide what to do, and right in front of her, right _here - _was_ Dick Coonan. _

Her breath stuttered in her lungs; he was coming towards her, long, efficient strides, his face ducked into the collar of his coat as if he were trying not to be noticed. He probably was.

The man who had killed her mother.

Oh god. What was she _supposed to do?_

She wanted nothing more than to grab him, drag him into an alley, put a gun to his temple and ask _Who hired you_ over and over and over again, until she got him to answer something other than, _Forget it, you'll never touch him; he'll bury you._

Until she got the _truth_ from him. Even if she had to kill him for it.

But doing that would get Beckett in trouble-

And yet, what better way to keep Jack alive. Kill Dick. Be done with it.

After all, what did she have to lose?

Her blood sizzled in her veins, whispered in her ears, called for justice, _answers_-

Dick Coonan walked right past her.

For a split second, he looked into her eyes; she saw calculation and cold nothing there, dead eyes, the eyes of a man to whom the word _life _had lost all meaning, if it had ever held one. And then he was gone and shit, he had _noticed_ her-

He would remember her face. He would put it together just like he had last time.

She was certain of it.

Shit.

She kept walking, smothered the part of her that yearned to follow him, corner him, take him out - it was bad enough as it was. She had to think of the present Beckett.

He had noticed her.

* * *

The Other Kate didn't have a phone. It made Castle nervous, which made Beckett irritated with him, which meant he flinched every time she lifted her hand - flinched and ducked to cover his tender ears.

"Castle," she gritted out, glaring at him. "Stop fidgeting. Stop looking guilty. I know you're worried about her - no use trying to hide it."

"I'm worried about her because she stopped breathing twice this morning and then-"

"Castle."

He shut his mouth and straightened up in his chair. Beckett was reviewing the log notes from the locker because she thought her counterpart was trying to trick them. Vong was deadly silent on the names of those involved in his drug smuggling, and Castle knew that was pissing her off.

"What if we let him go?" he said suddenly, an idea coming to him.

Her head snapped up, eyes darting to his. "What do you mean?"

"Let Vong walk out of prison. We could follow him - I bet he runs straight to whoever is supplying him the heroin."

"Whoever supplies him the heroin is somewhere in Hong Kong. Not here."

"But he gives that heroin to someone here. He's not selling it himself, is he?"

Beckett's face cleared a little, eyes on some inner vision. "He's not. You're right. He's the middleman; he's the shipping company and that's it." She bit her bottom lip, then gave him a fierce look. "Honestly whoever is getting the drugs here - they probably own the whole line, the warehouse in Hong Kong where Vong's dvds are made and whoever it is here that receives it."

He grinned at her, feeling proud of himself. "So. Cut him loose. See where he runs."

Beckett grinned back. "I gotta get permission from Vice to mess with their guy, but I bet they'll let me. Since we collared him."

His whole face broke into a smile at _we _even though she could mean her and her team, but still. Hope. More hope. There was a we.

"Then let's go."

* * *

Beckett sweet-talked the guys in Vice who had taken over the case. She laid out their plan, made up some b.s. about a potential murderer in the operation, and discovered that the Vice guys had been plotting out the same idea so they could flip Vong - not just follow him.

Castle kept shooting the coterie of detectives these testosterone-laced looks, but Beckett elbowed her way past their machismo posturing and headed for the elevator.

Castle hurried to follow her, but one of the Vice detectives called her back. She gave Castle a nod to keep going and stepped towards the guy's desk, crossing her arms and hoping this wasn't some kind of stunt.

"I got a friend in Robbery who's noticed you, Beckett."

He what?

Beckett blinked hard and opened her mouth, but sounds weren't coming out.

"Good guy, single. Saw you beating the shit out of a punching bag. Might try talking to him."

Her heart slowed to nothing. "You trying to set me up?" she laughed, felt it fall flat even as she tried.

The detective shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly, tried to _aww, shucks_ her. But he still had those expectant eyes, and she realized he was running a message, acting as courier.

"What is this? Sixth grade?" she scoffed, but her tension spiked the moment she saw Castle step away from the elevator and back towards them. Like he was coming to check and see what the hold up was.

"Sure. So you got an answer for him?"

Beckett had a sudden flash of that ring on her finger, Kate's finger, and the way she'd looked at Castle-

"Tell your friend I'm not available," she got out quickly, and turned, knowing even as she did that her glance to Castle said too much, all the wrong things, it wasn't like that-

(yet)-

"I see that now," the detective said loudly, calling out to her as she headed for her shadow, her heart strangely pounding.

Castle gave her a look, an eyebrow raised and his gaze darting over her shoulder to the assholes in Vice, but she only shook her head and turned him around.

"Lock-up," she grit out.

* * *

"You can go, Vong." Beckett sauntered up to the cell, paperwork in hand.

But Johnny Vong didn't want to leave. He scurried away the moment they slid back the cage door.

"No. Not-uh. You cannot let me out there."

"What's the matter, Vong? Afraid?" Castle smirked.

"You let me go and that guy will think I've talked."

"That guy?" Beckett pounced, stalking forward as she eyed Vong. "What guy, Johnny?"

He swallowed hard and glanced past her to Castle, like Castle was going to save him.

"What guy, Johnny? Who're you afraid of?"

"No-no one. Nobody. No. I just think prison is the best place for me, right now. All those investors, you know, they'll think I've fleeced them, but the real estate scheme is solid, you tell Detective Ryan that I can-"

"Johnny," she said quietly, steel in her voice. "We're going to have to let you go. We didn't read you your rights-"

"No, no, you did. She did, right? You heard her-"

Castle shrugged. "Sorry man. Rookie mistake."

"No. No wait, I don't think this is a good idea-"

"Sorry," Beckett said, stepping back and gesturing towards the exit. "You're free to go."

"_No._ You shove me out there, and he will murder me."

Beckett glanced to Castle, a lift of her eyebrow. Was this what her future self prevented? The murder of Johnny Vong? Beckett couldn't see how it related to herself at all.

"Who's going to murder you?" Castle asked, stepping up at her side.

Vong ran a hand through his hair, leaned his forehead against the cage. "Oh man. Oh man. I am screwed. No matter how - you have to protect me." He lifted dark, fear-filled eyes to her, and she suddenly realized - in that flash of intuition she'd been missing since opening that locker - she suddenly realized that this was much, much bigger than she'd thought.

"We can protect you," she said.

"It's Dick Coonan. I run drugs for Dick Coonan."

* * *

Kate absentmindedly stirred her coffee, head tilted as she stared through the coffee shop window.

It wasn't the best place, but it did give her a view of Jack Coonan's building entrance. A narrow view, yes, but that was still better than nothing. And since she didn't have a car, this was as close a stakeout as she was going to get.

Her left hand was pressed to her chest, her fingertips making circles over her scar through her shirt. As if it could help. The ring felt heavy on her hand.

She'd had another one of those - episodes - when she was paying for her coffee; she'd fallen to her knees right there, had had to put her back to the desk, her chest so tight that no air would come through, no matter how desperate she was for it.

At least it'd eased up before the girl taking her order could call an ambulance, and in a couple seconds she'd been on her feet again, assuring everyone that this happened often to her, and she wasn't actually in any danger. Just asthma. She'd been lucky there wasn't a doctor in the crowd to refute that.

She wondered what Castle and Beckett were doing.

If she was right, if she was being - erased (even in her head, it sounded ridiculous) - then it meant that this present Beckett was...on a different track? That the path she was on was too divergent, at certain times, to ever lead to the place where Kate was in 2014.

That was good. Right? That was what she wanted - for Beckett to never get Castle shot right in front of her eyes, for her to never even go to that warehouse.

But she couldn't help the flickering sadness at the thought, because Kate had loved the place she was at with Rick, loved the relationship they had, and now maybe even that was being erased as well, maybe even their time together was being redirected, and the ring he'd picked out for her sometimes didn't look like it was supposed to, like it ought to-

Suddenly her eye snagged on the sight of a man of the same height and build as Jack Coonan walking down the street. She focused on him, bringing her cup of coffee close to her lips so it would partly hide her face.

It wasn't him. She winced as the too-hot liquid burnt her tongue, put the cup down in a brisk move.

Maybe she was wasting her time.

But if she was, Dick Coonan was too.

She had seen him again, not five minutes ago. He was buying a newspaper at the small kiosk right next to Jack's place, utterly unrecognizable in his grey sweatshirt and baseball cap; if she hadn't had his face in front of her a moment before, Kate wasn't sure she'd have even known him.

She was used to Dick Coonan, the man in tailored suits with the poised demeanor, who supposedly built orphanages; this guy, hunched and awkward-looking, was only remarkable in how different he looked.

It made her throat dry; it made her wonder how many selves he had.

She had never felt more at peace for having killed him.

She took another sip of coffee; it wasn't strong enough, was nowhere near the delicious cups Castle always provided her with, but she swallowed it anyway.

This was her life now - for however long it lasted.

* * *

They had Dick Coonan's address; they were waiting on the warrant for his home and office. It was easily the part of her job Beckett disliked the most, second only to paperwork - the waiting.

She glanced over the bullpen, her lower lip curled between her teeth in impatience; she didn't even have a murder board to distract herself with.

And where had Castle disappeared to?

Her eyes swept the room again. The break room blinds were almost completely closed; Beckett had to take a few steps forward to get a glimpse inside, and sure enough, there was her shadow, his broad shoulders, his back turned to her as he obviously worked his crazy-expensive espresso machine.

Mmm. Coffee. Her body hummed at the thought, and since they couldn't do anything else anyway-

She half expected to find Ryan and Esposito in the break room with him; but he was alone, and so absorbed in his task that he nearly jumped when she reached his side, called his name.

"Jeez, Beckett," he gasped, the coffee sloshing in the cup he was holding, splashing over his hand. He hissed at the burn, put the cup down as he licked the liquid off his scalded skin; she couldn't help staring, a little breathless at the sounds he made, the glimpse of tongue that she got.

Right.

Thank goodness he didn't notice; he was too busy whining and being a baby about it. Beckett smirked, felt her heart slip back into her control. Good.

"That for me?" she asked, nodding towards the now half-empty cup.

He gave it a dejected look. "It _was_, but now-"

Beckett reached for it, shrugged lightly. "I don't mind."

"No, no, no," he opposed, trying to yank back the cup. The coffee swayed dangerously; she arched her eyebrows at him, gave him a look that meant _Let. Go._

"Fine," he grunted. "Have your half a cup. I'll make myself a better one."

Beckett smiled, hid it behind the mug, watched his arms move as he pushed the buttons, then reached for an empty cup, muscles rippling under his shirt.

He was in pretty good shape for a guy who wrote for a living.

Damn it. Where did these thoughts even _come from_? It was that ring, that damn ring on her future self's finger, and the way that woman looked at him - so open and loving, a look Beckett had never expected to see on her own face.

And the echo of Kyra's ridiculous words. _He's all yours._

It wasn't like Beckett had _said _anything; it wasn't like she had even asked-

She didn't want Rick Castle. She didn't want to be told she wanted him. She wanted to be left in peace, left to enjoy her solitary life and her cases and the quiet and the taste of Castle's coffee. She didn't want to have to wonder, every time he smiled at her and that flickering warmth erupted in her chest.

She wanted to _not _wonder. She wanted to _not _think about it. But apparently that was too much to ask.

"Like what you see?"

Castle's low voice brought her back to the moment; she realized she'd been staring at him, opened her mouth to answer him with some smart-ass comment. But it got stuck in her throat when she noticed the heat in his eyes, hidden under the layer of humor; his shoulders were tense, too, and it could have been from holding the coffee-

Except she knew it wasn't.

His eyes held hers, mirrors for her hesitation, her doubts, and that breathless attraction that she couldn't deny was there - had been there since day one, even when she thought he was a smug, self-centered asshole.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. And then, at last, at last, Castle unfolded his arm to set his coffee cup down on the table, took a step towards her - another - he was so close and her eyes flicked down to his mouth, came back up to his eyes-

He lifted a hand and it settled at her waist, his palm hot through her shirt, and she took that one step closer.

Voices sounded outside the door; Beckett snapped back to reality, her heart pounding in her chest, her almost empty cup trembling in her hand.

She got rid of it, dropping it too briskly in the sink, and skirted Castle - why wasn't he _moving_ - so she could flee the break room.

Shit. Shit.

She'd almost kissed him. Wait, wait, no. Not true.

But she'd almost let him kiss her.

What was _wrong _with her?

* * *

Kate scanned the street for either of the Coonan brothers, came up empty. The dark, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn't leave her alone; she drank more of the tasteless coffee, tried to drown the sense of foreboding.

When the cup was empty, she got up to get a second one; she kept glancing back over her shoulder, but it was useless. No sign of Jack or Dick.

She switched to tea after that, seeing no point in forcing more of the disgusting concoction that they called espresso down her throat. Her eyes relentlessly swept the street, up and down, side to side, afraid she was missing something.

She reached the bottom of her second cup of tea and sighed, chewing on her bottom lip as she massaged light circles over her temple.

Maybe she had missed him?

She'd been confident in her ability to recognize Jack Coonan's face - she had spent enough hours studying that case file during the summer when Castle and Gina had gone to the Hamptons - but maybe she'd been presumptuous, after all.

What if she'd just let Jack walk past her, right into a trap?

Kate closed her eyes for an instant and tried to weigh the risks, to talk herself out of it, but she couldn't. She stood up, grabbed her jacket, and walked out of the coffee shop.

_Just a glance_. Just a glance to make sure Joe was still in the lobby; it would tell her enough.

A glance and she would walk away, would go back to the coffee shop or find another place to observe from-

She stumbled to a halt, her heart stilling in her chest. The lobby of Jack Coonan's building was perfectly empty.

_No._ No no no-

She wanted to rush inside, but she made herself walk; she stepped into the building and her first instinct was to check on Joe, but she pushed herself past the lobby, towards the elevator instead.

She pressed the button for the fourth floor, stepped inside, watched the doors slide closed. And then her breath was gone, released like a punch in her gut, and she doubled over.

The pain was much sharper this time; Kate felt a wrenching nausea that seemed to rise from somewhere deep, somewhere that she wasn't even sure was inside her; she had to wrap her arms around herself, clutch at her stomach as she gasped for breath.

Oh god-

She dropped to the floor, on her hands and knees, moaning as she struggled, fought for her life, for oxygen - just one breath, oh god, just a gulp of air, she couldn't die, she couldn't disappear until her job was done, until she was _sure_-

Blackness swam across her vision; she squeezed her eyes shut, pressed her forehead to the floor, curled up.

* * *

"Beckett, can we tal-?"

"No," she hissed and slipped away from him.

Castle stood in the bullpen and watched her head for Esposito, checking on the progress of the ongoing interrogation of Johnny Vong. He was giving up his drug contacts left and right; they were waiting on a judge to sign the warrants.

"Beckett," he called out.

She ignored him.

Maybe Kate had given him hope, but it was still only hope for the future.

Not for now.

* * *

Suddenly, Kate could take a shallow breath. It scraped across her ragged, raw lungs and whistled out again. Her ears were buzzing, stars dancing behind her closed eyelids; but at last the darkness was receding. It left her trembling on the elevator's cold metallic floor, body curled in on itself.

The elevator door was open; the hall seemed empty - too empty. Too quiet. The stillness of death.

Whatever that - attack? - had been, she knew. . .she knew what it meant. She didn't have a lot of time.

Kate willed herself to move. Her body wouldn't listen; it was weak and shaking still, powerless, a vulnerability that she hated. Her fingers clawed against the wooden panels; she tried to drag herself upright, to crawl out of there, but after a couple of inches her arms gave in, rebelled against her commands.

Time swirled and stretched and shimmered before her eyes; how much time, she didn't know. Only that it was too much, too much. A door slammed; she heard voices; the elevator tried to close. Her torso was in the way.

Movement slowly returned, along with a simulacrum of strength. She could finally push herself up; her feet found purchase under her and Kate propelled herself into the wall, stumbled towards apartment 4B, the one that belonged to Jack Coonan.

_The late Jack Coonan._

She had no doubt what she would find.

The door was ajar. She pushed on it with her jean-clad knee, careful not to leave prints, not to touch anything.

The living room was exactly as she remembered it. Stained with red, Jack's face turned away, the knife wounds violating his body.

Kate stared, took a flimsy breath; the sob caught in her throat, stuck in the too-tight space. _Castle._

She had failed him. She had _failed_ him. It had been her job to protect him; it was always her job, always, and now-

Her hands were tight fists at her sides; the tears fell, one after the other, trails of warmth against her cheeks, hovering at the edge of her jaw like a goodbye kiss.

She had failed him.

He would die in that warehouse, all that beautiful, beautiful love in his eyes, because she hadn't been fast enough, hadn't been strong enough-

She closed her eyes.

_Castle, I'm so sorry._


	9. Chapter 9

**A Better Fate**

* * *

"Where the hell _is _she?"

Castle hesitated, but felt a nagging sense that he should defend Kate. He glanced to Beckett and thought maybe that wasn't a good idea.

"Yo, Beckett. We have a warrant for Coonan's offices," Esposito called, raising it in the air as he walked into the bullpen. "You riding?"

"Coming," she said, and slammed down the phone. Fifth call to his loft, and still no Kate.

Castle's breath caught in his throat, but she glanced at him in invitation, and he hopped up, chasing after her.

He'd thought Kate had said she'd stick close to the loft today. But.

Obviously not.

* * *

Dick Coonan wasn't at his office when they arrived. Beckett posted a couple guys from Vice outside while the coordinating detectives searched with them.

Castle perused the guy's photos framed on the wall, the handshakes with politicians and famous people, the-

"Hey, who is this?" he muttered, pulling the frame from the wall.

"Gloves, Castle," she hissed, slapping a pair into his chest.

Right, right. Yes. He put the framed photo down on the desk and snapped a glove onto his hand, then picked it up again. He studied the two young men, smiling and a little swarthy. It was Dick Coonan in his army fatigues, gun, and a younger guy standing next to him-

"Who is that?" Beckett said sharply, peering at the photo over his shoulder. She was standing close, her breasts were practically brushing his elbow-

"Brother maybe? Do we know anything about a brother?"

Beckett jerked back, snagged Ryan by the sleeve of his coat. "Kev, see if you can find out anything about Coonan's family."

Ryan half-saluted and hurried off, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he headed for the hallway. Castle studied the photo intently, something niggling the back of his mind, something that wanted attention.

Beckett leaned close to him again, reached out a finger to touch the machine gun in the Army Coonan's hands.

"He has a service record. He'll-"

"Jack," Castle said suddenly, all of it clicking now.

"What?"

"The first thing she did - she took me to that bar and asked about a man named Jack." Castle glanced up at Beckett, saw the disbelief in her eyes. He opened his mouth to argue, but Ryan rushed back in.

"Boss. Pulled up his service record and it lists his next of kin. Jack Coonan. Has an address here in the city."

Castle's eyes met hers; she shared a triumphant grin with him. "Let's go."

* * *

The moment they stepped out of the Crown Vic, Beckett knew they were in trouble.

"Shit," she hissed. "Castle. Get her out of here."

She shoved Castle towards the side street where she'd seen her counterpart duck. They'd rolled in silent, no sirens, and it looked like it had at least caught Kate unaware. Damn. This was not good.

"What?" he said back, shuffling to one side but staring at her.

"Get her," she said between gritted teeth, heading for Ryan and Esposito. "Kate. Get her - me - out of here."

Castle swiveled his head, panic flickering across his face, and then he spotted the woman walking briskly away. "What are you going to say to-"

"Family emergency. You had to go. Now. . ._go._"

He hurried past her, his chest tight.

"And Castle?" she said, stopping sharply in the middle of the sidewalk. "You _make_ her tell you what the hell she was doing here."

* * *

Castle hustled after her, being careful not to draw the attention of the officers waiting on Beckett's instructions. Kate was hopelessly too far ahead of him, and he didn't dare call out to her just in case Esposito or Ryan heard him.

Then she stumbled, fell against the brick wall of the alleyway. His heart clenched and he darted forward, putting on a burst of speed.

"Kate," he hissed, coming up behind her and catching her by the elbow as she sank to her knees. "Kate. What's wrong? What's going on?"

She was white, her eyes panicked; she tried to shove him away, but he held on, cradling her, easing her back against the brick wall.

"Kate. What's wrong? Let me call an ambulance-"

She clutched her fists in his jacket and shook her head; her breath came in a sudden wheeze, all at once, and she seemed to sink in his arms, weak and gasping.

"Kate." He was finding it hard to breathe himself, just watching her chest rise and fall in jerky stutters.

"Gimme. . .moment," she sucked in a breath, closed her eyes.

He held her up, used his body to brace her against the wall, couldn't help the way her legs were straddling his thigh, couldn't help the burn of awareness as he held on.

She opened her eyes, still struggling for a rhythm, but she blinked a few times and finally looked at him.

She was crying.

He cupped her cheeks, guts twisting. "Kate? Kate, what's wrong?"

"I can't change anything. Nothing - it happens just the same." She's gulping down air and swiping at her cheeks, averting her eyes from him.

"What are you doing here? Why were you at Jack Coonan's building?"

"He's dead," she said roughly. "He's dead and it's all - it will happen all over again-"

"Wait, Dick's brother is dead?"

Her head jerked up, eyes clashing with his. "You know about Dick Coonan?"

"Yeah. Drug running. Vong cracked and we-"

She shook her head, biting her bottom lip. "More than that. So much more. And now Jack Coonan's dead and there's no stopping-" She choked off her own words, pushed at him to release her.

He stepped back, mindful of her need for space, but the moment he let go, she swayed forward and he had to catch her, keep her upright.

"Kate. Tell me what's going on. Just tell me."

She shook her head. "There's no use. It's over. It's done. There's nothing I can do."

* * *

She was so lost in her own grief, so angry and confused and desperate; the kiss came as a complete surprise. But maybe she should have expected it.

Castle's lips brushed hers, gently, barely there at first; his fingers loosened on her shoulder, came up at her jaw, hovered there. It was all so chaste, so tender; Kate found herself closing her eyes, the cracks in her heart deepening with every second of his mouth against hers.

And then it was over, just as suddenly, the softness of his lips replaced with the cool winter air; she looked at him, saw the stunned blue, the awe in his eyes.

Oh.

It was the first time he'd kissed her.

Not the first time she'd been kissed by him, of course not, but this man - the Castle standing in front of her - this was the first time he'd ever kissed Kate Beckett of his own accord.

Shit.

And it had been _her. _Not the Beckett from 2009.

Oh god, what was she doing? She was messing them up. She was-

"I'm sorry," he said, tentative, like he was trying to figure out what was the right thing to say or do.

She shook her head, wordless, straightened his collar with a faintly trembling hand. "Don't be," she rasped, close to tears once again.

She was so _tired._

And Castle was warm and wonderful, so solid against her, regarding her with those reverent eyes, his whole face brimming-

Oh. Oh.

With _love_. With the realization that he was in love with her.

It was so... "Beautiful," she murmured, dazed, gratitude shining in her heart for being offered the chance to see this.

Her Castle had understood his own feelings long before she'd even recognized them; it had taken his whispered words to her dying self in a sunlit cemetery, had taken a year of silence for her to finally be ready to answer them.

And yet here he was - young and gorgeous, the understanding so fresh and bright in his eyes - and she, oh, she just wanted to kiss him for it.

"I knew you couldn't be indifferent to my rugged good looks," he said, with a weak attempt at a smile, and that did it, reminded her where she was, why she couldn't.

Kate rested her head back against the wall behind her, letting out a slow exhale.

She didn't know what to do.

He cleared his throat. "So you were at Jack's because you were trying to - protect him? Keep him from being killed?'

She nodded. Yeah, that was what she'd been trying to do. The task she'd failed at so spectacularly.

"Why?" Castle prodded. "What happens when Jack dies?"

Kate pushed her hair back with one hand, found his eyes. "I can't seem to change anything."

"Then tell me," he shot back, the line of his mouth so curious and determined.

Before she knew it her hand was at his jaw, her thumb caressing the contour of his lips; she felt him shiver, and daggers of guilt stabbed her heart, but she didn't stop.

If she was stuck here-

If she was stuck here and he was going to die anyway, was going to die in five years' time in that terrible empty warehouse-

Then she wanted him to herself.

Every minute, every second that she could get. Because she knew how good it was between them - magic, they could be _magic_ - and she wouldn't waste any of it, not one drop, she would drink it all avidly, unlike her younger, careless, ignorant self.

It was greedy, and it was selfish, but she didn't care.

And then there was also the idea - however stupid and desperate it was - that if she ruined things between him and Beckett now, if she came between them, then Castle would never be in that warehouse with her in five years' time.

Kate fisted her hands in his shirt and pulled him back to her, slowly, giving him time to anticipate her actions, time for his heart to race and his eyes to widen-

And then she met his mouth with hers. She kissed him softly, gentle presses, trying to be mindful of his inexperience - inexperience with _her_, and he had told her once that she was the only one that mattered - but this time it was his tongue that beseeched her, his teeth rasping at the tenderness of her lower lip, and she gave up, gave in, opened herself to him with a joyful moan.

Castle.

* * *

Beckett got his text saying that he'd found her alter ego and was taking her back to the loft. And then his cavalier, _No need to hurry home._ She rolled her eyes and studied the body on the floor.

Jack Coonan. What the hell was going on?

"You okay, Lanie?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at the ME.

Lanie composed her face and shook her head. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Beckett found the Johnny Vong video in the machine even as Esposito and Ryan bickered over it. Pieces were beginning to touch, to show connections she didn't understand, but they didn't quite fit into place yet. Jack knew about his brother's drug running and. . .

And what? How did that get Jack murdered? Were they in on this scheme together?

"You know, if the Westies knew Jack was also running drugs-" Ryan shook his head, tapping the Vong box.

"What do you mean?" she asked sharply.

"Westies don't allow that in their territory. Jack here was an enforcer for the Westies - I remember him from my days at Vice. They'd have - well, they'd have murdered him for it."

"You think the Westies came here - did this to one of their own?"

Ryan shrugged but he glanced over at Esposito as if testing his theory out against his partner's logic. Beckett felt a sharp stab of jealousy that she smothered, because her partner was off with _herself_, and the emotions here were just getting completely out of hand.

Esposito finally shrugged back. "All right. So say Rourke found out his best enforcer was pushing drugs. I can see him coming here personally and dealing with this one."

"He's armed to the teeth," Beckett remarked, noting the weapons. "But he was stabbed at close quarters, doesn't even seem to be that much of a fight-"

"Like he knew the guy. Rourke?"

"But wouldn't Coonan know. . .I mean, he knew he was in serious breach with the Westies, doing this-"

"Honestly," Ryan interrupted, scratching at his jaw. "I'm having a hard time buying that Jack Coonan did something so - so-"

"Egregious," she supplied. "Against the Westies. Yeah. Me too."

Esposito crossed his arms. "So what the hell happened here?"

Beckett glanced around the room at the techs, the officers on scene, and knew there was really only one person who could answer that question.

Herself.

* * *

He opened the door of the loft and Kate was right at his back, hovering, so close, the smell of her crowding his mind, clouding his reasoning. He stepped away, couldn't quite believe he was doing it - _holding himself away from Kate Beckett_ - and tried to gather his wits as he took off his coat.

Beckett, his Beckett, had given him a mission.

_You make her tell you what she was doing here._

Little bit difficult when all he could think about was the way Kate had kissed him, the way he'd kissed her, her body pressed against his, the brick at her back.

But. This first.

Okay, so Kate had been trying to protect Jack Coonan, to save his life, but to what end? She had carefully avoided telling him, and now her new thing seemed to be kissing him and - jeez - looking at him like she wanted to jump him, and how could he - how was he supposed to-

He started when she came to press against him, the length of her slender, smoking hot body at his side, humming as she tilted her head to him, lifted those dark eyes-

He caught her wrists, stepped back while he still could.

"Stop that," he said, wishing he didn't sound so breathless.

The shock in her eyes would have been comical, if the general expression of her face hadn't been so confused and heartbreaking. She dropped her hands, seemed to hesitate, took a tentative step towards him. "Castle-"

He moved away, _don't listen, don't listen to her_, and cleared his throat. "What happens now that Jack is dead, Kate?"

A flash of indignation crossed her eyes, and weirdly enough, that was a lot more familiar, a lot easier to handle than her seductive looks and her wandering hands. He was used to getting glares and eyerolls from Beckett; he could deal with this.

"Why do you care?" she said, frustration heavy in her tone. "I can't _change _things, Castle. It doesn't matter what I do - so let's just stop wasting time-"

"I'll decide how I want to spend my time," he replied shortly, surprised at himself. But it was true - he believed in free will, believed that people were in charge of their own lives, and he wanted to be given a choice. Not just _told_, like a five-year-old, what was the right thing to do.

Kate gritted her teeth in front of him, but he was not giving in; he wanted her to start _telling them _things. It was Beckett who was right - he should have sided with her from the beginning, should have been as uncompromising as she was.

"What is it about Jack Coonan's death, Kate?"

And now she was the one to turn away, to put distance between them, but hell if he was going to let her. He caught her at the couch, spun her around. Her lashes fluttered as she looked away, eyes too bright, and his heart immediately softened, his chest tightening.

Shit, he'd made her cry.

"Kate," he said quietly, question and apology rolled into one, his hands unconsciously curling at her elbows.

She swayed, her forehead almost at his jaw, and then as she rocked back her eyes found his, her lower lip between her teeth, weary and vulnerable and so close to telling him.

He held his breath, didn't make a move or a sound, hoping, praying-

"My mother's case," she breathed brokenly, her eyes sliding shut.

What?

"This is about my mother's case," she repeated softly, and the horror opened like a pit inside him, dark and terrifying. Her mother's case - it had taken him some fast talking and three months this summer before Beckett had let him back in after he fumbled his way into her personal dark hole. He had new information, he _still_ had new information but she had refused to hear it. He'd apologized and managed to stick by her side, but it had been a close one.

Kate's eyes opened again, desolate and grieving, and she finished in a breath, "My mother's case is what gets you killed, Castle."

And then she was crying, crying in a way only Beckett could, silent and held back and completely gut-wrenching, and he wasn't even aware he was going to her until she was in his arms, tight and shaking, her mouth open at his neck on the sobs she wouldn't let out.

Her mother's case would get him killed.

* * *

"Hey, last call that Coonan made was to a New York number, but there's damage to the SIM - it's missing the last two digits."

Beckett crossed her arms over her chest and studied Ryan, knowing there was more. She felt restless with the idea of Castle and her alternate self just _hanging out_ at his loft while she had to deal with this. She wanted him here.

She wanted Kate to answer some questions too.

"So get this. The number traces back to the New York office of the FBI."

Beckett stared at him, stunned. "What's a street thug doing talking to the FBI?"

Ryan shrugged. "Don't know, but I got hold of them and they're sending someone over."

* * *

Suddenly, Kate was no longer in his arms.

She was. And then.

She wasn't.

Except she was. He could see her; she was - she looked wrong, she looked sick, and her eyes were fixed somewhere past him, but she had no - there was no substance to her. He was holding the thinnest edge of nothing.

And then she was gone completely.

Castle startled so hard that he tripped back over the coffee table, his arms empty of her.

And then.

_And then she was._

"Kate?"

When he reached for her, she was already collapsing.

* * *

She can't move, can't move. Can't breathe past it.

She's not in his loft; she's not - anywhere - she's-

"Detective? I need you to squeeze my hand if you can hear me. Detective Beckett?"

Where are her fingers in this tangled knot of her body? Everything is a live wire, everything burns. The weight on her chest is unrelenting. Off, get it off-

* * *

"Kate? Kate, what's going on? I don't know what's happening to you."

The dark living room flashed in her eyes and she wanted to close them but it _hurt_ and something in her wouldn't move the way she needed it to, and then a flash of light snapped across her vision and Castle was gone.

* * *

She groans and feels her body shimmering in and out on the sharp edge of pain.

"Can you squeeze my hand, Detective?"

Where is she? What is this?

"I've got no response, both sides. Someone get him out of here."

Wait. Wait. No. Wait-

"Prep surgery."

She can't move, if she could just move. Everything is like ice. If she could just-

"Going into v-tach. Get the crash cart-"

She's going to die; she's going to die and she'll never get to see him again.

* * *

"Kate. Stay with me, Kate. Stay with me."

Her eyes opened; her chest expanded with a lungful of sharp, stinging air. And oh, it was his voice, _his voice_-

He was alive.

Oh, thank god, thank god.

"Kate, please," he said again, sounding so concerned, and she realized her vision was shimmering again, that her whole body was being wrenched out of her own reach. There was a point of heat on her arm; her wrist felt more present, more alive than the rest of her.

She made the effort of looking down, saw Castle's hand - he was holding her.

Anchoring her.

"Helps," she rasped, couldn't understand why her voice felt so foreign.

"How? How can I help?"

She focused on his blue eyes, pushed a breath out. "Where you touch me," she explained quietly, feeling the warmth spread through her, little by little, parts of her waking up one after the other.

He seemed to understand; he gently helped lift her from the couch she was lying on, put his arms around her, cradling her torso against his.

"Better like this?" he asked, and she nodded again, resting her head to his shoulder in relief. God, this whole thing - time travel, whatever it was - it was exhausting.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You were here. And then you weren't."

"What?" Her throat was raw and she winced.

"And then you - there you were. Like you were here but it was hard to see, like the light was bending strangely around you. And you passed out on me." She could hear some anxiety in his voice still, a sign of how scared he must have been. "You just - you went pale and collapsed, and it was like - like you just... weren't there anymore."

Ah. So she'd really gone back-? Was that real? Was it just-

"Kate. That wasn't the same as before-"

"No," she agreed, finally strong enough to let go of him, meet his eyes. "Castle. I think that was - that I traveled back to my own time. Maybe it means I'm failing, that I'm not changing things enough. Or maybe I changed too much. I don't know."

"Wait. What do you mean, traveled back? You were here."

"Was I?"

He stared at her, mouth open, for a long time; she could see him trying to figure it out, but she couldn't help, didn't know any more than he did.

"What did you do, back there?" he asked in the end. "Did you see people, talk to them?"

She shook her head slowly. "I was - I _am_ - in the emergency room, I think. I don't know. It - it was hard to understand anything."

She didn't think he needed to know exactly what she'd heard. Kate turned; her eyes fell on a clock that he didn't have anymore in 2014, and she gasped, slid her legs off the couch. "Castle. Is that the time?"

"Yeah." He looked so serious still, this quiet, intense version of himself that she knew was the result of acute worry. "You were. . .in and out. . .for almost two hours, Kate."

_Two hours. _Shit.

Two hours-

"Beckett's still at the precinct?" she asked suddenly, her heart twisting because she knew what had to be happening there. With the pattern of knife wounds on Jack Coonan's torso, Lanie would be putting it together, figuring it out.

"Ah, yeah. She didn't answer my text-"

"You need to go. Castle." The urgency of it thrummed in Kate's heart, her words catching in her throat; she wasn't even sure why. "Go to the precinct. Be with her. You need to-"

She weighed her words, thought of her younger self, tried to remember.

What did she need?

"Just - just don't let me run away from you," she told him, relieved to see he was already putting his coat back on, looking for his shoes. "Okay?"

"Don't let you run away from me," he repeated distractedly, eyes scanning the room for - oh, his keys. She leaned and grabbed them from the coffee table, said his name, and threw them to him.

"And Castle," she stopped him, held his eyes long enough to make sure she had his attention. "The man who killed Jack Coonan - it's the same man who killed my mother."

He stilled, eyes wide, like he was seeing her for the first time.

"Shit," he breathed.

"Yeah."

He swallowed. "Does she - does she know yet?"

Kate couldn't be sure. "Maybe. Maybe not. But it's not going to be long now. You need to go."

He nodded, moved to the door, turned back to her when he reached the entrance. "Kate. You're staying here."

It wasn't a question. She smiled, moved in spite of herself by his determination to protect her. "If you promise to bring her back so we can decide on a plan. Together," she bargained.

He looked at her, studied her honesty. "You gonna share with us this time?"

She gave a single nod; it was enough for him.

"If I can get her to come here, I will," he promised, and then he was out the door, and she was left alone in the middle of his loft, praying that it wasn't too late to change things still.


	10. Chapter 10

** A Better Fate**

* * *

Agent Forrest had explained that Jack Coonan had come to the FBI to play the informant - pretty open and shut then, wasn't it? Finn Rourke had handed out the death penalty to his former enforcer for his betrayal.

She needed to talk to Finn Rourke.

Vice wasn't relinquishing the Vong/Coonan drug case, but the fact that Jack Coonan had been trying to inform to the FBI was more than enough proof for her. She just needed the solid evidence. And she couldn't get it standing around the murder board.

She hesitated as she looked at her phone, debating whether or not to call Castle. But she wasn't sure she wanted Castle showing his face in front of Rourke twice. She wanted to confront the bastard about what he'd done to Jack Coonan, push his buttons, see if someone at Rourke's bar might have an attack of conscience and offer him up.

"Ryan, I'm headed to visit Rourke," she said, slinging her jacket over her shoulder as she moved for the elevators. "Gonna see what shakes out. You guys stay on top of the Vong drug stuff - I want to know how far Dick Coonan's drug running extends. And the moment our guys on his office or home catch him coming back - you let me know."

"Soon as they've got him," Ryan said, affirming her statement.

Beckett slid her jacket on, but Esposito hurried up from the hallway, grabbed her by the arm. "Wait. Don't leave yet."

"What?" she said, jerking her arm away from him with a frown.

"Lanie's on her way up."

"She have the prelim on Jack Coonan?"

"She has - something else."

The elevators dinged open but instead of Lanie, it was Castle.

He looked like he had that night he'd come to find her in Will's hospital room; too serious, sick with knowledge, his face blanched.

She stepped back, felt the wall hit her back.

Her phone rang.

She answered mechanically, her eyes on Castle's face as he came slowly down the hall towards her. "Beckett."

"Kate, honey, I need to talk to you."

"Lanie."

She swallowed hard and couldn't tear her eyes away from Castle, from that damn look on his face. Funeral. Funeral look.

"I'm on my way up to talk to you," Lanie said again.

"About Jack Coonan," she whispered, pressing a hand to her eye.

"I have a forensic pathologist here, a Dr. Clark Murray. I asked him to consult because he's familiar with this kind of case."

Beckett leaned over at the waist, locked her knees to try to stand back up, felt Castle come to her elbow, his face twisted with terrible knowledge, just like that night.

He knew. Kate had told him.

"Lanie?" she whispered.

"I'm so sorry."

"My mom," she choked out. "This is about my mom's murder, isn't it?"

* * *

Kate felt the icy tendrils of time sliding down the back of her neck and stumbled out of his kitchen, her knees hitting the island before she could reach the couch.

She sucked in a breath that wouldn't come, clutching the counter to stay standing, the numbness crawling along her ribs, spreading from her chest outward. Her hands, her feet, everything became like ice.

She managed to close her eyes, felt the darkness swoop down on her in a rush. Nauseated, Kate sank her forehead to the granite, but it wasn't there.

* * *

"I have a pulse!"

Her heart pounds hard, fast, out of her chest. She moans on the grating edge of pain.

"Detective Beckett? Can you hear me? We're taking you in to surgery."

The scrape of light against her eyelids and her body is pitched up and down on the wave of seasick chronology. The quick punch to her arm and then fire burns a clear, finite path up her veins.

* * *

This time when she collapsed, there was no one to catch her.

* * *

"Beckett," he called quietly, his voice the only sound in the precinct's conference room.

She wouldn't look at him at first, and then she did, turning her eyes to him with such doom, such unrelenting grief that he actually flinched.

And then she closed her eyes and turned her head away from him.

She pushed up from the chair, swayed there a moment.

Lanie sucked in a breath. "Kate, honey-"

"I just need. . ." Beckett trailed off, but Castle stood, reached for her hand, intending what, he didn't know. She shook him off and headed for the door.

"Beckett, wait." He started after her, caught the door of the conference room as she swung it open.

"Castle," Lanie said with warning.

He waved her off and hurried after Beckett, finding her at the elevators. When she saw him, she altered her course and made for the stairs. He followed, happened to see the faint sheen in her eyes.

"Beckett," he called, stopping at the landing as she rounded the stairs and kept going. "_Kate_."

She paused, looked over her shoulder at him. He could see the wide and dark beauty of her eyes as she finally let him catch up to her.

"I need to see my dad."

He took another step down, coming closer, and she didn't move. He remembered, almost like a shock, that he had nearly kissed this woman in the break room earlier today.

Not just Kate in the alley. But this woman. Kate Beckett.

He stopped just above her on the stairs; she half-turned her body to him, but moved her head, no longer looking at him.

"I just need to. . see him first," she said finally. "I need space and time to think."

"And after?"

Her jaw was hard.

He sighed. "Come to the loft. We need to - she told me enough to know - we need a plan, Kate."

Her eyes flashed to his. "I thought I was Beckett."

His breath caught.

She started back down the stairs, wordless now.

Castle came to his senses and reached out for her, grabbed her by the elbow. "The loft. When you're done. You don't have to do this alone anymore, Beckett."

And then when she kept going-

"_Kate._ You're not doing this alone. You said it, remember? We do this together."

She turned her head back to him as she stepped to the first floor. Her eyes were shuttered. "The loft."

He hoped that was an agreement.

* * *

She got to the diner early; her dad wouldn't be here for another half an hour. She sat in her car with the heater running.

Beckett could have crossed the street and claimed a table, ordered a drink. But it was pouring outside, and she didn't feel like facing the crowd, the light, the noise; she was too much like her father. The man who'd drunk himself into oblivion in the privacy of his own home, lights turned off, no one to watch the show.

She gritted her teeth and tried to shake the image from her mind, slowly breathed through it, the painful flow of memory, the darkness still ever present, still so ready to well up.

Her mother's case.

Strangely enough, she found her thoughts flying to the woman currently in Castle's loft, this older version of herself; she couldn't help but wonder. How had that Kate done it? How had she managed to keep her life together, to keep this from - from ruining everything?

_Castle._

Beckett felt like she was drowning, and the problem was, she wasn't sure she wanted to be saved. She had hoped for this, prayed for this - a break, a new lead - and now that she had it...

God, she was so scared.

She was so scared of screwing it up. She couldn't let her mom down. All this time, and now-

She closed her eyes and leaned back into the headrest, struggling to keep it together, to focus on the good things. Her future self was here, after all, wasn't she? She knew how it went. She could make sure Beckett did the right thing.

Maybe. Hopefully.

And then.

There was Castle. Beckett rubbed a hand down her face, pinched the bridge of her nose. There was a reason she'd asked him to stay the hell away from her mother's case, a reason she'd almost cut him loose for looking into it, and it wasn't because the idea of not catching her mother's killer made her sick.

It was because she wasn't sure she would make it out of the rabbit hole a second time. And if she couldn't make it - if the darkness swallowed her whole - then she didn't want Castle to be there watching.

Or down the hole with her.

She let out a long exhale, looked at her left hand resting against the steering wheel. No ring.

She brushed her thumb over the empty space around her finger, tried to imagine what it would feel like, the cool metal that her skin would warm, the promise of it, being so certain.

She'd done this alone for so long, done life alone, and then Castle had showed up and he said stuff like _You don't have to do this alone_ and she just-

She'd known before she'd seen the ring on Kate's hand. She had, but she had been so intent on ignoring it, pretending it wasn't there, because she was - afraid? Will had left for Boston, had chosen his job over her, and she was... She wasn't good at this. Love. Life. Any of it. Probably because of her mother's case, yes. And then if you looked at his track record - Castle wasn't much better than she was.

So they were a terrible idea; they were too different; they would never make it. She had been telling herself that for some time.

But deep down she'd known.

She'd known he might be-

Beckett sighed, pulled her lower lip between her teeth, looking at the rain that trickled down her window, pooled in the street.

She would talk to her dad about her mom's case; he would help, would know what to do. Her father would know where the line was, how far was too far - because he'd been there before, he'd been down that rabbit hole.

And when her mind was clear, when her heart was - a little less jumbled - she would go to him then. Castle.

_You don't have to do this alone anymore._

* * *

Alexis called.

It was so good to hear her voice; Castle lingered in his lobby, selfishly wanting to keep his daughter all to himself as she told him everything about her day.

She and Meredith had eaten in this amazing Tibetan restaurant that he absolutely would have loved; they had had their picture taken by a renowned photographer that Meredith was good friends with; they'd gone shopping and Alexis had stopped her mother from buying a thousand-dollar dress, a fact that she seemed to take great pride in.

Castle grinned, loving it, and imagined Meredith's reaction as their sixteen-year-old daughter lectured her on the cost of things. He honestly had no idea how Alexis was so grounded a kid, but boy, was he grateful for it.

He told her a little about the case, didn't share the details, only the possible connection to Beckett's mother's case; his daughter showed all the appropriate feelings, shock and interest and compassion for the detective, and he hung up feeling considerably lighter.

Alexis always had that effect on him.

He rode the elevator up, vaguely planning a menu for the night of Alexis's return; his mind was still occupied when he turned his key into the loft's door, but not enough that he didn't notice the surprising absence of light in the living room.

"Kate?"

He pushed the door closed behind him, flicked the lights on, an uneasy feeling weighing down his stomach. She'd told him she would _stay here-_

"Kate," he called again, his eyes sweeping the kitchen, finding no trace of her.

He couldn't see her either through the open shelves of his study, but he went in anyway, thinking she might be in the bathroom.

He nudged the door of his bedroom open and found her there - in his bed. _Their _bed, he remembered, a painful little twist to his heart. Kate was lying on her side, curled up between the sheets, and he was both impressed and alarmed that she could make herself so small. And for some reason, he was reminded of Beckett that first case - when he'd made up a story about her life and it had turned out to be true, and he'd seen the tears pricking her eyes, but she'd set her jaw against him.

She looked just as resolute, and just as devastated, as she did then.

"Kate," he said softly, and this time she moved, turned her eyes to him. It looked like lifting her head from the pillow was an effort. Concern pushed him forward, drove him to his knees in front of her.

"Castle," she acknowledged, her eyes dark, so alive in her pale face. Her breathing was uneven.

"Hey," he answered. He should have been glad to find her awake, conscious, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong with her. "What's going on?"

"I went-" she closed her eyes, licked her lips, "I went back there again, Castle. To my time. It's - I don't know. I don't...understand. Maybe I'm not supposed to be here at all."

He wanted to protest, wanted to argue, but she looked so wrung out. He couldn't even think of something reassuring to say. What did he know?

"Beckett," she said sharply, eyes opening again, finding his. "Did you bring her?"

He shook his head. "She wouldn't - she said she had to talk to her dad first, but I think I convinced her to come here afterwards."

A smile danced on Kate's lips, some color returning to her face along with that beautiful tenderness. "Good job, Castle," she breathed.

He wouldn't exactly have called it that, but at least it was something. He considered the woman in bed before him, tried to think of a way he could help _this _Beckett.

"Have you eaten anything?" he asked.

"No," she sighed. He didn't want to ask why; if she hadn't found the strength to walk to his kitchen, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"I'll make dinner for us, then," he declared. "Is there anything that you'd like?"

She pressed her lips together, thoughtful, then gave him a sly look. "You make really good mac and cheese," she said.

It was eerie, to have her say that when he had never cooked for her before, not once in his life, but he smiled back, determined to make her feel better. "I'll come and get you when it's ready," he told her, standing up again.

"Actually," she said, pushing back the covers and unfolding her legs, "help me up? I'd rather be in the kitchen with you."

Oh. Right. Because his presence helped. Shit, was that - was that the reason she was in his bed? He hadn't been here to help her this time, and the bed was probably the part of the loft that smelled the most like him.

Jeez.

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, his body immediately buzzing at her nearness when she curled her fingers around his biceps for balance; she gave him a faint smile and let go after a second, but she already looked - better.

If that was all it took - a touch from him, a physical reminder. . .

He let her walk out of the room first, but he followed her close, rested a light hand at the small of her back; she was Kate Beckett, the woman he would love - the woman he loved? - and there was no way he could ever deny her the comfort of his presence.

* * *

Beckett pressed her hand to her mouth and smiled through her fingers. Her father shook his head at her and hugged her again.

"I know you have to go." He nodded to her phone; she was still holding it after she'd gotten the text from Esposito.

She nodded. "Thank you."

He cupped her jaw and kissed her forehead, and then they parted ways outside the diner. She felt buoyed by her father's quiet strength, his core of steel. Not too long ago, he hadn't any of that; it had been washed away in grief. But now - he was steady, he was her rock again.

Beckett smiled at his retreating figure and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, headed for her car.

She took her phone out and called Castle.

When he answered, she could practically hear his grin. "Beckett. We have mac and cheese."

"I just ate with my dad," she answered. "Is - you have her there?"

"Yeah, hold on." She listened to him rustling on the other end, a door closing. He was going somewhere private then. For some reason, that made her feel better as well. "She's here. She's - not doing so well, Beckett. It's like she's fading out."

"Fading?" she hissed, unlocking her car and sliding behind the wheel. "What does that mean exactly?"

"It's so - it's terrible. She just - she's here but she's not here. The suffocating thing happens and then it's like her body is. . .less substantial. Happened twice while I've been here."

Beckett growled into the phone and slammed the car into drive.

"We need to-"

"Castle. I can't. I got a text from Espo. The Vong case-"

"Vong. Not Coonan?"

"I will deal with it later," she grit out. _The truth will never hurt you, Katie._ "But first, I have to get back to the precinct. They've pulled in a Latin Kings drug dealer named Trucho-"

She heard him suck in a breath and she paused.

"Beckett. Trucho? That - Kate said his name, when we were at Rourke's. What did she say? She said. . .something about when Trucho comes calling or. . .I don't know. It didn't make any sense to me, so I-"

"She knows about Trucho?" Back to the Vong case _again_, and for the life of her, Beckett couldn't figure out how Dick Coonan's drug smuggling operation had gotten Jack Coonan murdered by her mother's killer. "Listen to me, Castle. Try to get as much out of her as you can. I've got to talk to Trucho; the boys pulled him in after Vong gave up his street peddlers."

"Okay. But what about Finn Rourke?"

"I'll deal with him later," she grumbled. "One thing at a time."

* * *

Castle found her again in his study; she was running her index finger over the spine of the first Nikki Heat, and he suddenly realized that for her, there were more.

"Wanna tell me the title of the next book?" He was joking, but only partly, because his editor had been shooting down all his ideas, and honestly, Castle didn't like any of the suggestions that had been made to him. _Frozen Heat_, really? Never in a million years.

Kate turned to him, her hand falling back to her side, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth. "Sorry, Castle. You gotta do this one on your own."

"Not even a tiny clue?" he pushed. Sadness shimmered in the dark depths of her eyes.

"Maybe you won't name it the same, Castle. Maybe it's going to be a different book."

Oh. "Right," he said, feeling like a complete idiot. He had no idea how to get Kate to explain about Trucho, Rourke, any of it. Pushing her right now felt wrong.

Kate's face was half in shadows, the light from the living room only touching her temple, her right eye, her cheek; she looked tired, and vulnerable, and so damn gorgeous it made him hurt.

"What will happen to you?" he asked quietly, afraid of the answer, his heart hammering in his chest.

She sighed, gave him that soft, patient look that said, _You know just as much as I do._ "If I succeed," she answered anyway, "then I guess I'll just cease to exist, Castle. The future version of me will be too different from what I am now."

Something inside him rose up, growling, protest and a fierce protective instinct that he just couldn't help. It propelled him towards her. "I don't want you to disappear," he murmured, his throat raspy at the thought. "Kate."

She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek lightly, rose on tiptoe until the softness of her mouth brushed his ear. "I'd much rather disappear than live in a world without you, Castle."

He gritted his teeth at that, met her eyes when she came down. The love pouring out of her, lighting up her whole being, left him speechless once more.

A world without him? That's what this was about. She'd come here to _save his life_. And she was going to leave just as quickly as she'd come, without even that reassurance that she'd made a difference.

He put his hands to her face and brought his mouth down to hers, hard, kissed her with all the desperation he felt at being left without her, without the certainty, the living proof that Kate Beckett loved him, needed him, wanted him. She moaned against him and her lips parted, the open wetness of her mouth welcoming him in a way that made his whole body thrum.

He kissed her neck, tracing the line of her jaw with his tongue, adoring the throb of her pulse with his lips; she arched against him, her hands feverish, jittery over his chest, the mewl of his name ripped from her breathless throat.

He wanted her. Kate Beckett. All of her. Now and then, what did it matter? What did it matter?

Her eyes opened, so dark, a little hazy, but he could see the guilt swirling in them. "Castle," she started, but he cut her off, worked his tongue between her lips.

"I won't ever tell her," he promised against her mouth. "She will never know, Kate. Let us have this, let me give you this."

She shook her head at him, but her hands clenched in his shirt, her head bowing forward.

He brushed his lips over her skin, back to her ear. "You want to change things? Then change this."

She lifted her head and stared at him, so very tempted, he could tell; he could tell how much she wanted him just from the hesitant line of her eyebrows, the dark depths of her eyes, the hands that still lingered on his chest.

He dropped his fingers to her waist, slowly brushed his knuckles across her ribs, up and down, rhythmic. Kate bit her lip hard, but couldn't stop the moan that escaped, raw and wanting and beautiful.

Castle slid his hand under her thigh, wrapping her leg around his waist. She didn't fight him, didn't protest; he lifted her up easily, an arm at her back, and made the decision for her as he walked them both to his bedroom.


	11. Chapter 11

**A Better Fate**

* * *

It was wrong.

It was wrong but _oh, _it was so_ good-_

She felt his hands slide into the non-existent space between her jeans and her burning skin, slowly peeling the denim off her, taking his time and teasing the revealed expanse of her legs with his lips, his teeth, driving her wild.

So long, it felt like _so long_ since the last time he'd touched her like this, since-

He licked at the soft skin behind her knee and she arched, growled, so ready, all of her weeping for him, yearning for his touch.

She could hear him chuckling darkly, somewhere far away; but there was also delight in the sound, and breathlessness, and she was reminded again that this was their first time for him-

She closed her eyes, so tight, tried to work up the strength, the courage to push him away, tell him no, _no, Castle_, _you have to wait for her_; but even as the words trembled in her throat, even as she tried to figure out a way of pushing them past her lips, he was coming back to her, pushing it all out of her head.

He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, running his tongue over the seams of her mouth before he pushed inside; and just that, the wet glide, the low, humming sound he made, that was enough to have her keening for more into his kiss.

Her hands were curled at his waist, the smooth, firm skin, sliding up and down under the shirt he was somehow still wearing; Kate's fingers fisted in the fabric, wanting to yank it off him, but his arms were otherwise occupied, were in the way.

When at last she got her wish - when he pushed himself up to get rid of his shirt, towering above her - Kate avidly drank in the sight of him, all young muscles and narrow waist, his eyes no longer blue, only the dark pull of desire in them. "You're beautiful," she said, couldn't help herself, and the expression on his face changed, softened by surprise, and then the burst of feeling in his gaze.

He dropped back down to her, the brutal encounter of skin making her shudder, and kissed her ear, her jaw, her neck. Her mouth. "Kate," he breathed, and no, this was not the way, this was only going to make her cry-

She trailed her hands down and showed him what she wanted.

* * *

She crashed into him, boneless, the feeling of his hands over her vaguely registering at the edge of her consciousness as he cradled her to his chest, let them both fall back against the mattress. She curled into him, too exhausted to move, to do anything else but breathe against his skin.

"Kate," he murmured at her temple, and in the satiated blur of almost-sleep, she thought that maybe, maybe by giving him this, she had made sure he would stand with Beckett when Kate was gone.

That he would never give up, never relent in his pursuit of her.

She hoped, at least, that something good would come out of the terrible, _beautiful_ thing she had done.

"Don't give up on me, Castle."

* * *

Trucho had given them nothing, cocky and thought he was so funny, smug in the interrogation room. Beckett resisted calling Castle once more, asking him to do whatever it took to get answers out of her other self - answers that explained how her mother's killer was involved in all of this, how any of it related to that night ten years ago. She knew that wouldn't work anyway, that this was something that she alone had to-

Alone?

Well. He'd said he was with her.

And since none of the uniforms sitting on Coonan's house or office had reported seeing him, Beckett figured she might as well take the time to get answers herself. She needed to talk to Finn Rourke. So instead of calling, she got in the Crown Vic and headed for his loft. Just like she was supposed to.

Just as he'd asked.

She needed her partner.

* * *

When Castle opened the door to her, his face was filled with something she couldn't identify, but his eyes were intent on hers, like he had so much to say. He touched her waist when she walked inside and the shock of it made her breath catch.

To hide her response, she rounded on him and crossed her arms.

"Trucho gave us nothing. We need to talk to Finn Rourke, shake him up a bit, see if we can get any answers. What about her? She tell you anything, Castle?"

He blinked and ran his hand down his face. "She - uh - Beckett. She had another one of those attacks. Just - it's rough."

"Where she's getting erased? Castle. This has got to stop. Whatever she's changing or-"

"Not changing," came a voice. "I'm not sure I can change anything at all."

Beckett jerked her head around and saw Kate coming in from the study, arms crossed tightly over her chest, shirt carefully in place, hair carefully in place for that matter, but a flush of-

Oh my God. She'd had sex with him.

Beckett wavered, mouth shutting as she stared at herself, and she knew - she knew - it was so evident. It was all over her own face.

Castle. She'd slept with Castle.

_Made love._

Beckett swallowed, took a moment to push a lock of hair behind her ear, studying the floor to give herself just a second - she just needed a second to push that somewhere dark and secret to deal with later, if ever.

But. Why would she even do this, why would she-

And then it hit her, what this was about, what it had to be about, all of this. It wasn't just because it was her mother's killer, it was a present and active grief that haunted Kate's eyes, enough grief to make her do this - take Castle from her - herself.

"What happens to Castle?" she said, raising her eyes to herself. _Herself_. Five years was all it would take and she'd be reduced to this-

Reduced?

Or-

"What?" Kate said, lips pressed together.

"I'm not stupid. I can tell."

Beckett watched in satisfaction as panic crawled over both their faces, but she let them off the hook because she didn't want to deal with that either. Not right now.

"You're here because something happens to him-" she spat out, pointing at the man who had just been seduced by her future self. "Something happens to him and you're running around this city threatening gang members and showing up at dead guy's apartments. So you tell me what happens in the future - what happens to Castle when you fail to change things?"

Kate shut her eyes, scraped her hand through her hair, half-turned away from them.

Beckett turned to Castle and saw that wasn't exactly new information. He hesitated, eyes on Kate, and then said quietly, "She says investigating your mother's case is what gets me killed."

Killed.

Oh God.

* * *

Castle watched Beckett pace, the furious and impotent frustration rolling out of her in waves. When Kate had first shown up, he'd been impressed with how strong she was, how so much more in control, but now - now Beckett had taken that on herself while Kate looked defeated.

Beckett turned icily to her counterpart and crossed her arms over her chest. "So this gets him killed, five years from now. That's what you're saying."

Kate pressed her lips together. "Yes."

"Then tell us _now_ what we can do to save him. Tell us how it happens, where, when. We'll just avoid that place - hell, we'll get out of the city that day."

Kate shook her head roughly. "I can't change anything. I can't make it any different."

"But we can - if you just let us help. I don't want him to die either."

Kate looked worse the more Beckett tore into her. Castle sat on his couch and couldn't help remember the way she'd tasted, the sound of her moans, the feel of her body against his. That was what he wanted - whenever, however. That, for always.

"Kate," he said softly. "Tell us why you thought saving Jack would keep us safe."

"Just don't look into my mother's case. Just leave it alone. Both of you. Just leave it alone, Castle."

He'd heard that before, and his gut instinct was to drop it, apologize again and just leave it alone, like Kate had said. But Beckett? Would she - could he even ask her to do that for some hazy future event that might never happen?

Beckett snarled at her own self. "Don't let us go into the future blind and ignorant when you can _save his life_ by telling us right now-"

Beckett's phone rang harshly into the tension of his loft and he watched Kate flinch as Beckett took it out.

"Beckett," she snapped.

Her head was down as she answered, but her eyes came up to meet his - electric and thrilled. "Thank you. Yes. _No._ Do nothing, Ryan, you hear me? Do nothing. I'm on it."

Castle stood as she hung up, asked her without asking what was going on.

"Finn Rourke is holding a memorial for Jack at his bar. We're headed out to confront him. We're going to nail Rourke for murdering Coonan - and figure out what the hell he has to do with my mother's death." She stalked towards the door, hand on the knob, then shot him a betrayed, fierce look over her shoulder. "You coming?"

He stared at her.

Beckett grit her teeth. "Or do you only come for her?"

* * *

So stupid.

How could he have been so stupid?

_I won't ever tell her_, he'd said. _She'll never know._

As if she wasn't a detective - and not just any detective, but the finest in the city. As if she didn't have other ways of finding out than him telling her. As if-

He was an idiot.

Castle sat in the car, silent, eyes on the street as she drove. He didn't have words to offer her; he couldn't muster an apology when the rich taste of her skin still lingered faintly on his tongue, when he couldn't bring himself to regret anything.

And from the look on Beckett's face, sharp and focused and as out of reach as ever, she didn't want his words anyway.

* * *

"Here's to darling Jacky. He's up in heaven now you can be sure; he broke in when they was in vespers!"

Laughter erupted all around as Beckett made her way to Finn Rourke, her jaw set, cold indignation in her heart. The nerve of that man, giving a eulogy at Jack Coonan's wake when he was likely the one who had murdered him-

Rourke stepped down from the chair, leaning heavily on one of his men as he did; he was old, older than Beckett had expected, and she remembered Jack Coonan's apartment, the battery of weapons, and then the solid, muscular body of the man.

Well, maybe he hadn't killed Coonan himself; maybe he'd sent another Westies enforcer to do his dirty work for him. Someone who killed the exact same way as her mother's murderer, ten years ago.

Fire licked at her chest and she stood tall, stepped forward when Rourke made his way to her.

"You again," he dropped by way of salutation, his eyes clear and cold and more calculating than she would have liked. "Come." He nodded towards a room in the back, an office maybe, started to move, but Beckett wouldn't have it. Hell no.

"I don't see why we can't speak here, Mr. Rourke."

He turned back, narrowed his eyes at her. "Is it that you think you're _safer,_ here?" He gestured around them to the people who were now having hushed conversations, trying to act like they weren't interested in what was going on. "These are all my people, detective. If I wanted to have you killed right now, right here, do you think any of 'em would rat me out?"

Beckett clenched her teeth, forced herself to remain silent, ignore the provocation. She could feel Castle standing quietly at her back; her heart pounded in her chest as she pondered the wisdom of bringing him.

"Fine," Rourke grunted. "Have it your way. I'm quite interested, _detective_, in how exactly you knew about Jack's death _before it even happened._" His eyes held hers, hard as stone, and Beckett realized the position she found herself in after Kate's visit.

Rourke suspected her. No, that didn't make sense - Rourke was the one who had had Jack killed. He was only trying to throw her off.

"I'm quite interested," she replied coolly, "in knowing exactly what happened between you and Jack. What was it, Rourke? Did you find out he had gotten in touch with the feds? Or just that he was dealing drugs on Westies territory, and you couldn't let that happen?"

"I'll not have you slander him," Rourke growled, and honestly, Beckett would have laughed if she hadn't been so desperate for answers. "Not tonight. Jacky Coonan was loyal to his last breath; he would have sooner died than deal drugs. Trust me. You got it all wrong, detective. Jacky wasn't the one running drugs; he was trying to catch the son of a bitch who _did_. He was trying to clean our neighborhood. On my orders."

Lies; it was all lies.

"What are you saying?" Castle intervened before she could say more. "That Jack was trying to find the drug dealers, only they found him first?"

"Aye," Rourke said, looking over at him with something like sorrow in his eyes. "That they did. And your lady friend here," he added, staring at Beckett appraisingly, "knows more than she wants to say. But aren't all the cops just alike. Crooked to the bone."

She pressed her lips together, studied the old man's face, trying to separate the truth from the lies. If Jack really had been looking for a drug dealer-

Was it possible that he'd found out his own _brother _was behind it? Would Dick Coonan have been stupid enough to try and sell his stuff on Westies territory, even knowing his brother was an enforcer for Rourke?

It didn't make sense.

"You know who killed Jacky," Rourke said suddenly, his voice low as he looked at her. "Don't you, detective?"

Beckett pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, slowly shook her head. She knew nothing - all she had were suspicions, scraps of information that didn't seem to fit together. Jeez, she needed hard evidence, not-

"Don't lie to me," Rourke went on, a murderous look on his face. "I can tell that you do. Give me the name, detective. Give me the name and justice will be done."

"_Your _justice," Beckett shot back. "Not mine. No, Rourke. I can promise you that I won't rest until Jack's murderer is behind bars; that's all you'll get from me."

"Prison," he sputtered distastefully. "Prison isn't good enough for what he's done."

She looked at him, surprised at the flare of understanding in her own heart, almost shocked to realize that Rourke wasn't faking it. He really had cared for Jack Coonan in some way.

"Go back to your wake," she told him, trying to soften her voice. "Mourn your dead. But you let me handle justice."

She turned without waiting for his answer, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she walked away, praying that he wouldn't try and stop her. "Come on, Castle," she told her shadow, and he eagerly followed, looking as tense as she felt.

* * *

Kate scraped a hand through her hair, the ever-present feeling of almost-drowning settling deep in her chest. She leaned over the kitchen sink and took as deep a breath as her lungs would allow, tried not to panic.

She had very little time left, it seemed, and she'd done absolutely nothing to change things. Except maybe piss herself off five years ago.

Would she have trusted Castle enough to love him had he-

Well, yeah, because there were women. Ellie Monroe, Bachelorette #3, and Gina - shit, Gina. That was - in six more months, basically, wasn't it? So it wasn't like she had needed Castle to be chaste and-

But it was with her. Herself. He'd cheated on her with herself. No - not cheated exactly, because they weren't together, but Kate had always felt like there was some unwritten, unspoken thing they'd had. . .no, well, that was later, wasn't it? Much later. After she'd been shot.

So right now? What did it mean for Beckett and Castle-

Kate cursed as another fist started squeezing her lungs; she felt her knees hit the cabinets as she clung to the counter, black spots before her vision.

Obviously, she'd changed things. This timeline was actively, persistently trying to rub her out, deny her mass and matter and space.

She was abhorrent to nature - her existence here had tipped the scales. The laws of science said she couldn't exist and now, apparently, the universe was working hard to make that happen.

_It's a sign from the universe-_

And yet. She was still here.

She was still here.

There must be something left for her to do - something to right the wrongs of five years from now. Something to keep Castle from being in that warehouse, keep herself from ever-

Coonan. Dick Coonan.

Beckett and Castle were at Finn Rourke's right now; soon they'd have the final connection - Dick Coonan.

But not if Kate got to him first.

She spun around, sucking in a breath as she scrambled for his phone, dialed a number from memory.

"Yo-"

"Espo, it's Beckett." She grit her teeth and flared her nostrils to get a deeper breath. "Let the unies know that Castle and I will sit on Coonan's office the rest of the night."

"You got it."

She hung up, heart pounding, and searched the loft for his car keys. He had a Ferrari, of course, but she'd been in that garage - he had more than that. Where did this version of her fiancé keep his-

Ah, same place. Castle, love, you never change.

Kate grabbed his keys, shoved her feet into shoes, and locked the loft door after her. In the elevator she pulled her hair back into a loose bun and hoped she'd pass for herself.

Time to confront Dick Coonan. She'd run him out of town, push him into hiding to keep Beckett from knowing he was only a hired killer, that it hadn't just been a drug dealer's revenge but a massive, dark conspiracy. No conspiracy - no need to keep investigating. If it ended with Coonan, then Beckett would never know.

Kate was looking to simply scare the hired assassin, but if it came down to it, she'd do whatever it took.

* * *

When Becektt and Castle were outside, away, alone, _safe_, she let out a long exhale, pushed back her hair as she leaned against her car. Wow, that had been-

"So cool," Castle breathed out, looking more than a little impressed. "The way you stood up to him - I got goose bumps, Beckett," he said theatrically, holding up a bare forearm for her to see.

She quirked a smile, couldn't help it, the two of them friends again for a brief second before she remembered-

What he had been up to for the past couple of hours.

She looked away, hating herself for the surge of jealousy, of wonder inside her - what was he like, and how did his skin, his lips, his tongue feel-

And then the stupid question was out of her mouth.

"Was it good for you?"

* * *

He gaped at her, couldn't mistake her meaning when her eyes looked like _that_, furious and wounded, burning into him.

Shit, he'd thought-

"Well, Castle?"

The snarl in her voice hurt him, stung, even as the wonderful memories unfurled at her words; his foolish body couldn't help reacting to the heat on her face as she stepped forward, defiant and stunning.

"Kate," he hedged.

She came closer, and he wanted to step back, _needed_ to step back in order not to throw himself at her, touch her, but his mind was still clear enough for him to know that moving away from her, _now_, would have been the worst possible thing to do.

"Was it _good_?" she hissed, and he thought - for the briefest moment - he thought there was actually a thread of curiosity in there, that despite the anger and the betrayal still flaming in her eyes, part of her really wanted to know.

He swallowed, tried not to flinch as fire licked its way down his body.

"Better than," he breathed, unable to help himself.

And there it was. Dark and swirling amidst the hurt, but still there - arousal. Oh god.

She rocked on her feet, her body so close; her eyes did that adorable trick, flicking to his mouth before flying back up to his eyes, and for a second there he felt absolutely certain that she was going to kiss him.

Take what was hers.

But then she was stepping back and spinning on her heels, and it was over, and he was tripping over his own feet to follow her like a desperate puppy.

"Good for you," she threw at him over her shoulder, her voice as curt and closed off as ever.

He closed his eyes for a pained moment, held off the stupid retort that came to his lips, wouldn't have helped at all.

_Could be good for you too, Kate._

* * *

Timing.

It was all about the damn timing.

She rapped on the window of the patrol car parked a block from Coonan's office; the uniform rolled it down and tipped his hat at her, gave her a summary of the absolutely nothing that had transpired. She waved them off and immediately headed into the office building.

Patrol car parked right out front. Was Beckett an idiot?

Of course, Beckett didn't know, had no idea what Coonan was capable of, the masks he wore. She was looking for a drug dealer and Jack's next of kin, not a military man who'd been recruited in '95 to act as a trained assassin. So of course Beckett put patrol cars out front.

Didn't mean that Coonan hadn't come back.

And the moment she walked on soft carpet towards his office doors, she knew she'd been right.

She drew the back-up weapon that Beckett had reluctantly given her and kept it at her side, took as deep a breath as the universe would allow.

She had this one chance to change things. She couldn't use her weapon - because it was registered to Beckett, to herself - and she couldn't kill him barehanded - she didn't have the strength or the _breath_ to do it.

But she could run him to ground, she could let him know that the cops were on to him, that she knew about the account in the Caymans, she knew about his alter ego Rathborne, and she knew what he'd done to Jack.

And to her mother.

Then she'd let him run. She'd convince him he had nothing left to loose, and he'd get out of her city.

And she knew - with a certainty that was final - she knew that Coonan would kill her to make his escape.

She slowly turned the knob to his front office.


	12. Chapter 12

**A Better Fate**

* * *

Beckett got behind the wheel, wordless but restless too. Filled up with knowledge that swirled around in her head, knowledge that was finally beginning to connect. But it still didn't all make sense. She needed-

She knew what she needed. She needed her partner.

"So you think Jack Coonan figured out what his brother was doing?"

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she was aware of them. But the statement sharpened her, all of her pent-up energy immediately redirected to a better end - the case - which at least she could do something about.

There was relief in his voice when he answered. "Yeah. And this explains Trucho and Latin Kings too."

Good. Castle was - he was her partner still.

Beckett hummed her agreement, saw what he was getting at. "Latin Kings get the attention of Finn Rourke; Rourke sends Jack out to look into it."

"I don't know how Jack and Dick got along, but if I were Dick, I would have done everything I could to avoid a direct confrontation with my brother. Kept up the illusions for as long as possible."

"Yeah," she said slowly. "But when Jack figured it out-"

"Then Dick had to resort to a more...extreme solution," he finished.

"That would explain why he didn't put up a fight," Beckett observed, pieces finally falling into place. "Jack knew his brother; he probably didn't expect him to just go ahead and-"

"-kill him," Castle completed, his tone full of quiet horror. She felt the same.

"He'd have to be pretty cold-blooded," she pointed out. "To kill his own brother, stab him over and over."

"Heartless," Castle echoed, but there was something else in his voice. She looked over at him, found hesitation in his eyes. "Beckett. If Dick killed Jack..."

"Then he probably killed my mom, too." She knew - she was intensely aware of the fact. The knowledge thrummed inside her, acute, so heavy she wasn't sure what to do with it.

"Have you ever heard the name Coonan before? Does it ring any bells?"

She shook her head, lips pressed together. No, Coonan didn't sound familiar at all - if it really was him, then she had no idea why. "I know her case file by heart, Castle. I know the names of everybody she worked with, everybody she knew, but-"

"Okay," he said softly, too gentle, obviously trying to soothe her. She didn't want to be soothed. "But Kate. You know now that there are others - Scott Murray, the women, now Jack. What do they all have in common?"

_Kate._

She shook her head at first, denying both the use of her first name and also his attempt to string these cases together, but then she understood, partially - a small ray of light in the darkness. "The drugs."

He nodded. "You said your mother was part of-"

"Take back the neighborhood initiative. Which is why I thought Vulcan Simmons was in this. But if Coonan had been running drugs-"

"That long ago?" he asked, poking holes in his own theory. "Could be. Maybe this was all about drugs. Your mom and the others."

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, stared out the window. Was it that easy? After all this time, was the answer so close? Coonan was the key. She had to find him - there were too many questions.

"I need to call Esposito," she realized, reached for her phone. "Ask him if the uniforms parked in front of Coonan's place have seen anything. We need to catch this guy, _now_."

She was already dialing, but Castle's hand on her wrist stopped her, the contact making her breath catch. Her thumb stilled over the call button.

"Beckett. I just want to say this."

Shit. He sounded just as breathless as she felt; she couldn't look at him, didn't want to do this, not now, not ever-

"I'm sorry," he went on, the words coming out in a rush. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't mean to - I -"

"You gonna tell me she threw herself at you?" she asked, struggling so hard to keep her voice even, balanced. Unfeeling.

He sucked a breath in, but to his credit, he didn't hesitate. "No," he answered quietly. "No. I won't lie to you."

Damn it, it _hurt_ - it had no right to hurt like this.

"I just - I needed to - she's lost everything, Beckett," he insisted, his eyes so intense when she dared to glance at him. "_Everything._ The man she loves is dead, and that man is - is me. And it must feel to her like the past five years have suddenly been erased - she finds herself here, not knowing why, only hoping that she can make a difference, can change things-"

"So you, what? Decided to make her feel better?"

Bitterness leaked through her words, ruined her attempt at neutrality.

Castle sighed, and when she looked over at him, there was frustration written on every line of his face. Frustration and-

It looked like his eyes were glistening in the dim light.

"Well, yeah," he said, and now he sounded petulant, too - defiant. "So sue me, Beckett. She's _you._ She might be five years older, but she's still you, every little bit, every annoying quirk and every adorable look, and it's not my fault if I lo-"

He stopped suddenly, closed his mouth, but she was staring at him and it was all there in his eyes, naked for her to see, the words he wouldn't say, the words she wouldn't, couldn't believe in.

Could she?

For a moment they just looked at each other, and her chest felt tight, so tight, but it wasn't anger anymore, and it wasn't pain either, it was just...

"I need to call Esposito," she said softly, dropping her eyes to her phone, reminding herself of where she was, what she had to do. Before she could - listen to him.

"Right," he agreed, and he didn't sound put out, she thought. There was maybe a tinge of disappointment, but she wasn't even certain. "Yeah. You should call him."

"Castle."

He found a smile for her, and although it was more like a grimace, a little forced, a little twisted, it did its job and eased her heart. "Call him, Kate."

_Kate._

She reached out, snagged his hand before she could talk herself out of it. "I'm not-" the words caught in her throat, scraped, but she pushed them out ruthlessly. "I'm not angry with you, Castle." Not anymore.

The look on his face - pure wonder and relief, so much relief he was almost beaming with it - it was absolutely stunning, so beautiful she could cry, if she were that kind of girl. But she just gave a little squeeze, let go, tried to breathe through her erratic heartbeat as she put the phone to her ear.

Right. Esposito.

* * *

"I did _what?_"

He heard her hiss of disbelief and instantly knew something was wrong, but it took a few seconds to break his exhilarated bubble, come back to earth.

She was quiet for a moment, listening, then snapped, "_No_, Esposito, I'm not losing my mind. But your concern's touching. I remember now, okay? It's late, and I just - I forgot. No, don't call them. Castle and I will be right there."

She ended the call abruptly, her mouth a thin line that could mean nothing good, her hand a fist around her phone.

He hesitated, but decided to leave her alone, swallowed his inquiries. She would tell him in her own time.

Beckett started the car and slid into the scattered night traffic with a sharp, angry jerk of the wheel; his fingers found the door handle, gripped it automatically. At the next red light, he felt a surge of gratitude for his seatbelt - although it did take him a moment to fill his lungs again.

"Um, Beckett?" he ventured, hoping she wouldn't maim him.

She didn't answer, but she eased up a little; he didn't fear for his life again until they'd reached their destination. It took him a couple seconds to remember, because everything looked different at night, but then he knew - Dick Coonan's office building.

Just as he turned his head to her, questions in his mouth, Beckett spoke.

"Esposito says I called him earlier," she said quietly, a deadly tone to her voice. "Told him you and I would stakeout Coonan's office tonight, and could he let the uniforms know."

He took that in, chest squeezing as he reached his own conclusions.

"And you don't remember calling him-"

"Because I _didn't_, Castle," she hissed between gritted teeth. "And there's only one other person who could have done it."

Shit, what was Kate _doing_? He felt panic crawl up his insides, tried to remember the way Kate had looked when they'd left, the soft touch of love on her face-

"Course," Beckett observed bitterly, inspecting the street, "police car's gone. She must be here somewhere. Got any idea what the hell she's doing?"

He shook his head, wordless, a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Well," she said decidedly, striding towards Coonan's office. "Let's find out."

* * *

Beckett crossed her arms over her chest as she waited for the elevator, changed her mind. "Forget it. Let's take the stairs."

"What is she doing?" Castle said again, and Beckett could hear the horror in his voice.

"Being an idiot, most likely. Damn, what happens in five years that makes me an idiot?" At the look on his face, she growled. "Don't answer that."

He lifted both hands in surrender, but she'd made his lips quirk up, she'd somehow lightened the mood for him.

Well, that was a switch.

They took the stairs up four flights; at the door to the hallway, Beckett stopped him with a sudden hand at his forearm. He glanced down to her touch, something flickering on his face, and she shook her head at him.

"Me first," she said quietly.

She drew her weapon and crouched into a firing stance, then nodded at him to open the stair door.

The hall was clear. She stalked forward slowly, felt Castle at her back. She kept her grip firm, and headed for Coonan's office. At the door, she waved Castle away and put her hand on the knob instead.

She listened for a moment, thought she heard - something, she wasn't sure. Voices, maybe. The offices were more sound-proof than she'd thought.

Beckett glanced back to Castle, held up a finger to get his attention, and then nodded the one-two-three. On three she yanked the door open and spilled low into the office, weapon ready.

Her breath was knocked from her before she had a chance; her body pitched into the reception desk, her ribs taking the brunt of it and making her gasp. "Castle-"

She scrambled to her feet, found her weapon, spun-

Froze.

"Let him go."

"Didn't realize you had a sister," Coonan grinned, calm, cold, entirely too in control.

He held Castle against him, gun at his ribs, arm around the writer's throat. Off to Beckett's left was Kate, battered - badly, her gun held up and pointed at Dick Coonan as well. Kate looked like hell, one cheek puffy; she'd not be much good in a fight.

"You killed my mother," Beckett said, going for distraction, stepping forward just slightly.

"Not-uh. You stay right there. Both of you. Here's what's going to happen. We're going to stroll on over to the elevator together, nice and easy."

"That'll never happen," Beckett spit out.

"Guns down."

"No."

"Guns down or I'll put a round in this man's liver, and he will die slowly and in considerable pain." Coonan jerked his arm tighter around Castle's throat and her shadow grunted, eyes flashing at Beckett.

A plan. She needed a plan. She shot a look to Kate, but the woman was steadfastly ignoring her.

"Let's go," Coonan said, nodding towards the door. "Guns down. Don't make me say it again."

"You know me, don't you," Beckett said instead, lowering her weapon slowly, so slowly. "You know my mom was your victim."

Coonan growled. "It's nothing personal, okay? Had to be done."

"She was my _mother_. It's damn personal-"

"Not-uh. You tell your crazy-ass sister to put her weapon down."

Beckett grit her teeth and shot Kate a fierce look. Kate wasn't moving, wasn't lowering her gun. What the hell? She flashed a look to Castle, and he was staring intently at her, his eyes a message she was afraid to read.

"Why'd you do it?" she repeated, her own weapon now at her thigh. "Was it the drugs?"

"Forget it, sweetheart. You have no idea what this is about." He snarled at Beckett, eyes glittering with scoffing condescension.

From the corner of Beckett's eye, she saw Kate raise her other arm, bracing her weapon as she went into a firing stance.

"_No. _We need Coonan alive. Put it down." She darted her eyes between her mother's killer and her future self. What the hell was she doing? She was putting Castle in danger.

Coonan shuffled back towards the door. "That's right. You do need me. You tell her to put her gun down, and then we all walk over to those elevators and I get out of here. Or else I fucking shoot all of you."

"Back off, Kate," Beckett growled.

"I can't do that. You know I can't do that."

"Hey, you wanna why I killed your mommy, you had better make damn sure I get out of here."

Beckett shot a panicked look to Castle, and her dread rose up as she met his eyes.

He had a plan.

And he was putting it into action.

* * *

Time travel was possible.

Because the moment that Castle crashed his head backwards into Coonan's face and jerked to one side, he heard Coonan bellow and felt the sucked in breath, he saw the rage flare hotly over Coonan's busted face, the man's gun come up, and he saw his own life end.

Time travel was possible.

Because what should have taken a fraction of a second, a blink, slowed down to painful, terrible clarity.

Coonan raised his weapon, point blank at Castle, and fired.

* * *

"_No!"_

Beckett jerked her weapon up and fired back, over the shoulder of the crumpling form in front of her.

Coonan fell, gasping, chest bloomed with blood.

* * *

Castle dropped to his knees at her side, cradled her head, a hand pressed to her chest, the hot blood under his palm, panic and pain thudding so hard through his body that he thought he'd been shot.

But it was her. It was Kate.

She'd thrown herself in front of him.

* * *

She's not here, she's here, she'd been here before.

"Kate, stay with me. Stay with me, Kate."

She'd been here before. But not here. "This. Isn't. How it. . .happens."

His fumbling hand at her chest, pressing agony into her lungs, her heart, her bones. Her eyes staring into the wide blue sky of his gaze.

"Kate. Stay with me. I love you, Kate-"

_Oh, Castle._

_How much I love you too._

* * *

Beckett sobbed, pounded on the guy's chest, forced the reps again and again into him, leaned over and blew air into his mouth.

Again.

"Come _on_," she grit out. "Seven, eight, nine, ten-" She leaned over and pushed in another breath, put her ear to his chest to listen. Nothing. Damn it. "Stay with me. No, come on. Stay with me, damn it."

"Beckett!"

She felt his fingers digging into her shoulder, ripping her off. She fell back on her ass, sobbed, pressing her wrists to her eyes, the blood so thick on her fingers and reeking of metal.

"He's gone. He's gone."

She couldn't breathe.

* * *

"She's gone."

Her eyes turned slowly to the mess on the floor, the blood stained across the carpet. Castle hunched over air, his hands as stained as Beckett's.

But there was no body.

"She's gone," Beckett echoed and her gaze went back to Coonan, dead on his office floor.

* * *

He woke up to an empty bed. It was nothing unusual for Rick Castle, and yet he couldn't seem to shake the bittersweet feeling in his chest, couldn't help his fingers from curling over the second pillow, the one Kate's head had rested on - was it only yesterday?

He gritted his teeth, felt her blood on his hands all over again, warm and sticky, spilling too fast. _Kate_.

Castle closed his eyes and willed the tears back, pressed his palms into his eye sockets.

Shit.

Fuck, he had to get over it. Beckett was fine; or she would be fine, once IAB had cleared her. They'd gotten their stories straight last night, before calling for back-up; they'd kept it simple and he felt confident that they could get through this.

But Kate-

He had to stop this. He had to just - pretend it was a dream, a crazy dream, anything to ease the weight on his chest that kept him from breathing right.

Shit, he'd watched her die. She'd died in his arms, so much love in her eyes, and he just - how did he come back from that?

Only hours before, she'd been in his bed, arched against him, the flush of her body and the dark tumble of her hair, his name in her gasping mouth. And then.

He pressed his lips together, eyelids shut tight, but despite his efforts a tear rolled free, quickly followed by another. Castle sucked in a great gulp of air, pushed himself upright, shoving back the covers so he could swing his legs out of bed.

Enough.

He had to-

His eyes fell on his alarm clock and he gasped in displeasure. _Eleven_? Ug, he'd slept through his alarm. Damn it. And obviously Beckett hadn't called. She had to be at the precinct by now, even though they'd had a late night - she should have _called _him.

He groaned and grabbed the first clothes he could find, deciding he didn't need a shower. He'd spent enough time under the spray last night, rubbing his hands desperately, water pooling red at his feet.

What he needed - what he needed was to find Beckett, and.

And make her see.

He would make her see him.

* * *

She was going through her post-incident evaluation, weighing every word; she wanted it to be clear and to the point, wanted it to raise as little questions as possible, but it was hard to assess her own work when it just felt like - a lie.

A shadow fell over her face, the light shifting, and she lifted her head to find Castle at her side, looking uncharacteristically subdued. Grave. Mournful.

The smile that had flickered to life in her chest dropped.

"Hey," she said quietly.

His eyes were on the sheet of paper in her hands, eyebrows arched inquisitively; she sighed, rested her back against her chair.

"Post-incident evaluation I'm supposed to write, send a copy to IAB." She shook her head, disheartened, but Castle sank into his chair and held out a hand.

"Can I take a look?"

She relinquished it willingly, watched him as he read, the familiar lines of his face, the slope of the nose, the circles under his eyes. He didn't look like he'd gotten enough sleep, although she'd resisted the urge to call him all morning.

She felt like wrapping her arms around him, and never letting go. As if holding on to him could also somehow hold her together as well.

_Not happening, Kate._

"It's good," he told her after a moment, handing back the evaluation. "Feels very...efficient. Straightforward."

Oh, good. It was what she'd hoped for.

"And I come off like Steven Segal," he added, a mischievous glint to his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting.

She rolled her eyes through the delicious warmth that flooded her. "Not sure you should be flattered," she pointed out, found that her own lips had curled into a smile for him.

"Oh, but I am," he told her. For a moment he just looked at her, and she stared back, and it felt so natural - so easy - she wished they could have stayed like this forever. But.

"I didn't know what you felt like," he started, leaning towards the bags he'd brought, the bags that smelled heavenly and that she'd been trying to ignore. "So I got sushi, I got some Italian, got some Thai-"

No, no. They couldn't do this.

"Castle," she said, her heart so heavy, her fingers flexing against her palm.

"-even grabbed some hot dogs," he finishes, putting it all on top of her desk.

"Castle," she repeated, and even she could hear the sorrow in her voice.

He looked up at her, hesitant, wary, but there was steel at the back of his eyes. He was not going to make this easy on her.

"Kate," he said, and it wasn't fair - he didn't get to do this, scramble her insides with just one breath of her name.

She exhaled slowly. "This is - this is sweet," she told him, gestured to the food now spread in front of her. "Thank you."

He said nothing, simply watched her, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She scraped up every ounce of courage she could find. "But we both know. Castle. You can't shadow me anymore."

He studied her for a moment, like he was trying to decide if she really meant it - she did, and she didn't, and it was tearing her apart.

"Because of your mother's case," he stated flatly, but there was a question in there, somewhere.

Beckett cast a look around, making sure no one was within earshot, and leaned in, couldn't stop her feelings from infusing her voice. "_It gets you killed, _Castle. It almost did last night, if Kate hadn't been there-"

"But she was-"

"And next time she _won't be_," she insisted, desperate for him to understand. "Castle. It took _two _of me to save your life. It's not that I don't want you here with me. I do. I - I've gotten used to you pulling my pigtails. But - I can't take that risk. Do you understand? Knowing what I know-"

"-which is next to nothing-" he interjected stubbornly.

She glared at him, felt the familiar frustration well up in her chest. "It's enough for me," she hissed at him. "I'm not risking your_ life_, Castle."

"So stay away from your mother's case," he shot back defiantly, and it was like a punch to her guts. Air deserted her lungs and she gaped at him, couldn't believe he would-

"Kate."

He reached for her hand and she tried to snag it back, breathless, but he wouldn't let go. "Of course I'm not asking that of you," he whispered fiercely, squeezing her fingers. "But we have other options. And the last thing your future self said to me? Wanna know what it was? _This isn't how it happens._"

She'd been trying to avoid his eyes, but she jerked her head up at the words, unbidden hope springing to life. No, no, she couldn't let herself-

_"This isn't how it happens_," he repeated, forceful, hammering the words as if he were hoping to push them through her skull. "Beckett, we changed things already. Kate changed them simply by being there-"

"We don't _know _that," she objected, finding herself so willing to believe - but no. It was too much of a risk; she couldn't lose him. If she lost him - god help her, she'd seen what it did to her. Never again, never again.

"That's what life is. We don't know ever know what the future holds." His eyes beseeched her, pleaded with her, his hand warm and soft around her fingers; she could feel her defenses crumbling, hated herself for her weakness.

She closed her eyes.

"Don't," he murmured. "Please don't push me away." He tugged her hand to him, gently, brought it to his mouth so he could press a kiss to her palm. She shivered, drowning, opened her eyes only to be caught in the intensity of his blue gaze.

"I love you, Kate," he breathed out, and she had to close her eyes against it, the terrible, beautiful words, _what if your love gets you killed, Castle- _

"I love you," he said again, so quiet, so sure, her objections breaking on the strength in his voice.

He couldn't - it wasn't-

She let out a trembling breath, opened her eyes again; it was all over his face, so open and gorgeous, and she couldn't help curling her fingers at his jaw, brushing her thumb against his mouth.

This time _he _shivered, and she knew then - knew that they were doomed.

There was no holding herself back from this.

"Dinner tonight," she told him, watched in amazement as joy lit up his face, leapt into his eyes. How they crinkled when he smiled. "We'll talk about this."

"Yes," he said, and it was so firm and resolute, like he was saying _yes _to her forever. Like he was only ever planning on saying _yes _to her.

Her heart tremored, broke into a thousand little pieces, but the look in his eyes put her back together again, reassembled the fragments into a stronger, fiercer version of herself. Indestructible. _Kate_.

And she knew.

She was never going to let this man die for her.

* * *

**the end**

If you didn't know, Sandiane Carter posted **A Better Fate: Interlude**.

Thank you so much for taking this crazy journey with us. Be on the lookout for an Epilogue.


	13. Epilogue

**A Better Fate: Epilogue**

* * *

Their second date was at Remy's, of all places.

It was the first downtime they'd gotten in a week or so, late after a solve; the cases had been intense, nerve-wracking, and Beckett had been dreaming of those strawberry shakes for way too long.

So when Castle offered his arm, so handsome despite the lines around his eyes, the tired curl of his mouth, she didn't hesitate.

The place was almost empty when they pushed the door open; there was only a trio of middle-aged men sitting in a corner, a bored-looking young woman behind the cash register. The woman perked up when she saw Castle and Beckett, though, came up to them with a wan, but genuine smile.

"You guys here for dinner?"

"Yeah," Castle answered with a smile of his own. "You're still serving, right?"

"Yup," the waitress confirmed with a little nod. "We're open until 2. Just - pick any table you like. You have a choice," she says with a little laugh, waving around.

"Thanks," Kate said, took Castle's hand to lead him towards a booth before anybody could hear the enthusiastic growl of her stomach.

Only him, and he laughed, of course, arched an eyebrow at her. "That hungry, huh?"

"Shut it," she shot back, but there was no smothering the wide smile that split her mouth open, spread warmth in her chest. He always did that, didn't he? Lightened her up with a handful of words. Strange how she just now seemed to notice.

She took the bench seat opposite from his, felt his feet brush against hers as she sat down. On purpose, no doubt.

And to think she'd been denying herself all of this - the spark in his eyes and the thrill of his touch, the pleasure of his words - that she'd deliberately kept herself blind to how wonderful they could be.

But it had been there, hadn't it? If she only let herself - _like_ him.

Oh, and she did. She did like him. It had happened without her awareness, without her agreement, but it was here.

"You look pretty serious," he observed, that beautiful, rich, laughing quality to his voice. Kate shrugged and studied him, marveled at what she saw now, in the place of the smug asshole with the sunglasses, a father, a son, her friend.

The man who loved her.

"Do I have something in my teeth?" he joked, but there was a thread of nervousness laced in his words now; it made her smile, and she let her fingers tangle with his. He wasn't so confident as all that then. He was as nervous about this as she was.

"Not so fun being stared at, is it Castle?"

He huffed a breath, but she could see the unmitigated adoration in his eyes, could feel the readiness with which his hand answered her light pressure.

It made her breathless every time.

The waitress appeared at their table, a notepad in her hand, a cheerful smile on her face. "Are you guys ready to order?"

Kate looked back at Castle; he shrugged, leaving it up to her. "I think we are," she said.

She only wanted the milkshake, anyway.

And him.

Finally, she wanted him.

* * *

He walked her back to her apartment; the night was cold but dry, not uncomfortable, and they were both wearing their coats. Castle couldn't help the apprehensive twitch of his stomach as they came into view of her building, Kate's words - the Kate from 2014 - echoing in his mind.

_Before my apartment blew up._

But she had survived, right? Kate had survived her apartment being bombed once, and he had to trust that she would again, had to hang on to that thin thread of hope, because he couldn't spend his days worrying about hazy future events that he didn't even know the date of.

(If they even happened. New trajectory for this timeline, right? That what Kate's appearance here had been about.)

Beckett, _his _Beckett, turned back to him when she reached the door, her straight, shoulder-length hair dancing around her face, her eyes soft. He could still tell the difference - he could see that she was still maintaining a façade, protecting herself - but she was slowly letting him in, growing a little less guarded every day, and that was...

More than he'd expected, to be honest.

He felt so damn grateful. To Kate. To Beckett. To _her_, no matter what time.

"Aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?" she prompted, lips curled into a smirk, a spark in her eyes that he was starting to become familiar with.

She liked to play with him.

A rush of pure want swirled in his guts, and he leaned in and took her mouth, confident and unapologetic, stroking his tongue past her lips as she gave in, opened to his touch, fingers threading through his hair and arms hooking around his neck, body melting into his.

_Kate_-

He wasn't sure how, but he suddenly found himself pressing her into the door, his leg firmly planted between hers, her thighs parted to accommodate his. Her mouth was a live, slow-burning fire that worked at him, devoured every ounce of resistance in his body until-

He jerked away before he couldn't, reminding himself.

She deserved more. He had promised himself; he wouldn't screw them up. He would wait for her.

Kate stared at him, her eyes darker than the night sky, her jagged, panting breaths visible in the cool winter air.

"Goodnight, Kate," he said, proud that his voice sounded so steady.

And he walked away.

* * *

The strident beep of her oven was driving her crazy. Beckett swore under her breath, gave up on zipping up her dress - stupid thing - and headed for the kitchen, her steps a little too quick.

She wasn't nervous. She wasn't.

The chicken smelled lovely; a relieved sigh left her lungs before she could help herself. It was her mother's recipe, but she hadn't cooked anything in so long - she ate mostly takeaway now, couldn't bring herself to prepare herself an elaborate meal when it was just herself.

There was nothing sadder than home-made food eaten in the silence of an empty kitchen.

Tonight, however, she wouldn't be alone.

Tonight-

_Oh, stop being ridiculous_, she berated herself as she grabbed the oven mitt, slowly slid the dish out of her oven. It looked perfect, not burnt, not underdone - jeez, she was going to a hell of a lot of trouble over this.

A quick glance at the clock sent her heart into a chaotic beat; she pressed her lips together and firmly pushed down her fluttering nerves. Butterflies in your stomach, Kate? Really?

It was just Castle.

She covered the chicken so it would keep warm, forced herself to walk leisurely back to her bedroom. A sharp jerk of her wrist finally triumphed over the resistant zipper, and she turned, inspected the result of her efforts in her floor-length mirror.

The dress looked good. It was black, simple (she didn't mean to make a big deal of tonight); the neckline, she thought, was its best feature, a low but tasteful cut that ended into a V between her breasts.

She couldn't do much with her hair, but she'd gathered part of it up, only leaving a few strands to fall along the line of her neck. A subtle hint, she hoped; a somewhat deliberate nudge.

_This is where I want your tongue._

Kate Beckett didn't usually cook for the men in her life; she certainly did not invite them to her place for dinner, not so early in their relationship, anyway. But a desperate situation called for desperate measures.

Castle was holding back. For the last three weeks, he'd been restraining himself. Oh, he would kiss her, yes, and touch her until her body thrummed, oh yes, but then he'd walk away, refuse to do anything about the need coiled tight inside her.

She didn't understand. He'd slept with her future self without much protest, it seemed; why couldn't he do her the same courtesy?

Beckett bit on her lip, tried to quell the surge of strange jealousy that rose inside her at the thought. Not at Kate, her future self, not entirely, but at - at Castle. Jealous that he was so certain and was holding himself in such disciplined reserve while Beckett was finding herself unable to have a coherent thought around him.

It was so frustrating. It was her skin his hands had roamed, her back he'd lowered to the bed, her cries he had swallowed with his kisses - or so she pictured, when she lay in bed at night, unable to fall asleep - and yet she hadn't gotten to feel _any _of it. It had all been reserved for that future version of her.

And now that Beckett wanted it, _him_, had finally admitted so to herself - now that her body yearned for him - he refused himself to her?

So not fair, Castle.

But he was coming over tonight.

He was coming over tonight, and there was no way she would let him walk out her door again before she'd gotten what she wanted.

* * *

Castle didn't know what to think. He'd never even been inside Beckett's apartment before; he had spent many (too many, probably) hours wondering what her place looked like, picturing her space, her kitchen, her bathroom. Her bed, of course.

But while part of him was thrilled at being admitted into her private world, he couldn't help but feel like this invitation wasn't exactly...her style.

Which in turn made him feel like an idiot, because he was looking a gift horse in the mouth, and honestly, couldn't he just show up at Beckett's and be happy that she'd asked him at all?

Well. Obviously not.

He sighed and got out of the town car, looked up at her building. Oh, he knew where she lived - he'd made sure a while ago that he knew everything that could legally be found out about Kate Beckett, and then some. Her address had incidentally proved very useful when he'd had that dress delivered to her.

Mm, what a dress, too. What a body. The bare skin of her back under the lace, which only made him think about the arch of her back in his bed - Kate and not Beckett but Beckett as well-

Sidetracked. He was getting sidetracked.

Shaking his head at himself, at the whole time-bending situation, he pushed the door open, walked into the lobby. A middle-aged woman was coming down the stairs, and the flowers he was clutching in his left hand made him feel self-conscious under her gaze.

The woman gave him a knowing smile that he did his best to return. His face felt strained, though, and he was afraid it came out as more of a grimace. His smoothness always deserted him in times of need. Or pretty much anything that had to do with Beckett.

He spared a glance at the apartment listing - Beckett's was 3B and as he'd guessed, that meant third floor. He took the stairs; they at least would provide some sort of outlet for the nervous energy that crackled through his body.

When he reached her door, he looked down at the flowers, felt the anxiety tighten into a knot in his throat. It was ridiculous; it wasn't even their first date, and he knew her, really knew her. She wasn't one of the models or bachelorettes that Paula usually tried to set him up with.

She was real. Maybe that was the problem.

_Get your act together, Castle._

He knocked, a good decisive knock; the door opened in a matter of seconds, as if she'd waiting for him. Kate Beckett, waiting for him at the door? Quit dreaming, Rick.

"Hey," she said, and he thought she sounded a little breathless, looked a little nervous, but it was hard to know if he wasn't just imagining those things because he wanted company in his anxiety.

"Hey," he said, offering the flowers like some kind of peace offering, thrust at her as if he were a five year old handing wildflowers over to his teacher. Stupid, Castle, stupid-

"Thanks," she said, and she smiled, tremulous and beautiful, looked at him from under her lashes. She seemed surprised, and pleased, and he felt himself relax.

She took the flowers and invited him inside; he couldn't tear his eyes from her long enough to look at her apartment. The black dress she wore was a perfect fit, a vibrant homage to the curve of her hips, her impeccable figure. It stopped above the knee and Castle found himself entranced by the smooth expanse of her legs, the beautiful line of her calves.

And astonished, strangely enough, by how little she'd changed in five years. Or would have changed.

Thankfully she was arranging the bouquet into a vase, not watching him fumble over the mesmerizing silhouette of her body, and by the time she turned back to him, he had somehow managed to collect himself.

"You can take off your coat, you know. Stay a while," she told him, that laughing edge to her voice; all his illusions about her not noticing his confusion went up in smoke.

"You look beautiful," he retaliated, feeling all the more righteous because it was so true.

She didn't blush, but it came close.

Kate parted her lips but said nothing, only regarded him for a moment; he got the strange feeling that she was wondering what the hell he was doing here, why she'd even let him in.

"Nice place," he said quickly, because even though he had been wondering the same thing in the car, he never wanted Kate Beckett to doubt that he belonged with her.

She smiled, the uncertainty in her eyes fading, and glanced around. "Yeah. I like it." There was almost a question at the end of her sentence, as if she wanted to know where he was going with this.

He gave small talk another try. "And great books," he smirked, noticing a few of his resting on a shelf across the room.

Beckett rolled her eyes, but stayed silent, as if she wouldn't begrudge him his moment of triumph. It thrilled him more than he could say, that she was comfortable enough to admit in front of him that she liked his books, and that she didn't look afraid that he would smugly ruin everything.

He wouldn't; the thought of her reading his novels was enough to make his heart squeeze, his words vanish.

"So. Dinner is ready, if you're hungry," she announced, and it was impossible for him to miss the flicker of hesitation (apprehension?) in her voice, subtle as it might have been. She was standing behind the kitchen island, the greenhouse windows behind her, the stainless steel gleaming even as she traced a fingernail around and around a smooth place in the counter.

She was no more comfortable with this than he was.

"Kate," he said without thinking, loving the way her first name rolled off his tongue. "Why am I here?"

He got a startled flash of her eyes, maybe some defensiveness, too. It was hard to tell.

"What do you mean - _Why_? Dinner, Castle. I made us dinner."

She had. And somehow, everything about that sentence felt wrong.

"But this isn't - it's not exactly the kind of thing you do, is it?" Shit, he had to shut up, shut the hell up before he ruined what could still be a lovely evening.

Her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Because you know the kind of things I do better than me, obviously."

_Let it go, let it go._ If he answered, she would turn this into some sort of fight, and he didn't want to be fighting. He just wanted to understand-

"No," he said, trying for soothing. "You can make dinner; I bet it's wonderful. But Kate. Honestly? I just want you to tell me that there isn't some sort of agenda behind this. Just - say it's only a dinner date, and I'll believe you."

She curled her lower lip between her teeth, a furious glint in her eyes, said nothing.

Yeah. That's what he'd thought. She was probably planning on giving him the third degree about what he'd done with Kate, her future self. She'd been curiously quiet about it, but he knew that couldn't last.

"So." he said softly. "Why am I here?"

She raised her chin defiantly, dropped the words with a studied detachment. "What do you think? For sex, Castle."

He would have laughed, but he could tell it wasn't a joke. God, it even - it even made him aroused, but it held an undercurrent of sorrow that wouldn't let him enjoy this moment. It would have been a lie to say that those words, coming from her hot mouth, didn't elicit an immediate response from his body, but the sadness outweighed it completely.

His heart dropped in his chest.

He'd never have thought he could feel sad that Kate Beckett wanted to use him for sex.

But this wasn't what he wanted from her. This wasn't what he thought he'd been building with her when they started this. It wasn't what Kate had given him that night when she'd made love with him.

His silence was heavy in the kitchen.

Beckett was averting her eyes, turning away, and he could tell from the deliberate set of her shoulders that she was hurt. Damn it. "But obviously you're not interested," she muttered, taking a few steps towards the kitchen.

"Beckett," he called, feeling like a jerk.

"Back to Beckett, are we," she observed with that clear, unaffected voice that he hated.

And then she was rounding on him, and even the fierceness on her face couldn't completely conceal the wounded look in her eyes. "You know what I don't get? You've had sex with lots of women. You had sex with _me_, her-me, not me-me, but _still me_, and you didn't seem too guilt-ridden about it. But now that I'm in front of you, _wanting_ you, you're playing hard to get?"

He felt insulted, and horrified, but mostly he just wanted to wrap her up in his arms and tell her-

"Drop the act, Castle. Doesn't suit you," she finished bitterly. And it stung.

He sucked in a long breath, tried to figure out a way to fix the mess he'd inadvertently made. But she wasn't done.

"What are you doing here?" Beckett said after a moment, softer, her beautiful eyes wide with a blank wall that nevertheless shimmered with confusion. "Because - I'm sorry, but it feels like you're being faithful. To her."

Oh god. Oh Kate.

"And, I'm not - this is a new thing for me," she added slowly, giving a shake of her head. "I don't want to be jealous of my own damn self. Do you have any idea how odd, and - and wrong that is?"

"So I should sleep with you so you don't feel jealous," he observed, hoping she'd hear by herself that it sounded just as wrong. Still, his heart was pounding and his mouth was thick. This could be it - this could be the thing that ruined them.

If she kicked him out of the precinct now-

Well, fuck. Then working her mother's case wouldn't end his life, would it? Had Kate _done this on purpose?_

Beckett gritted her teeth, back to aggressive again. "Maybe you should. Just get the sex out of the way."

He shook his head, powerless, so tired all of a sudden. "Not how I hoped it would happen, Kate." His chest was tight with it, the way she'd ruined things, now and then. The way he'd been a willing accomplice in their demise. "That's not what I'm looking for. So, I should probably go."

Some part of him mourned the quiet night he'd imagined, hadn't been able to keep himself from picturing, the two of them laughing over dinner, leaning in close, the taste of wine on her tongue as he kissed her - but that had never been what was going to happen.

He had to go, before he made things worse. Before she actually did kick him out of her professional life as well.

He turned, had to force himself away, bending a little to grab his coat from the couch. And now he was noticing, really noticing her living-room, the art books, the strangely harmonious blend of various styles, the almost bohemian feel of it all.

She had so many facets to her. He could see Kate here, Kate and Beckett both, and suddenly they were the same person, the same, and all of it was slipping out of his hands faster than he could hang on to it.

He was just reaching for the door, hesitating with his hand out, when he felt himself pulled back, violently spun around, his spine slamming against the wood with a painful jolt.

"Don't you dare," Kate hissed, and her eyes were bright - _shit was she crying?_ - and then _oh so good_ her body was stretched against him, pressed so tight he couldn't keep his hips from bucking up in response, because he did want her, he _did_-

"Don't you dare walk out on me," she murmured threateningly, before she attacked his mouth with her teeth, her tongue, fierce and hot as she slid a hand under his shirt, into his pants.

It was wrong, _wrong wrong wrong_, but oh, how he wanted her. He couldn't lose her, even if all she wanted was sex. He could change her mind, right? He could make her fall in love with him.

"Kate," he pleaded into her lips, but it came out as a moan, a gritted-teeth moan because he was so fucking _weak. When it comes to her._

Her fingers wriggled into his pants, made him jerk, a welcome flash of awareness that had him reaching for her wrist, staying her. "No," he panted, desperate. "Not - no, Kate."

She growled into his mouth. "_Why not_," she rasped, and it sounded so furious and so heartbroken at the same time. _"_Why not, Castle, why not-"

"Because I want you to want it," he finally let out on a breath, surrendering. "I want you to _want me_, not just - feel like you have some kind of score to settle with yourself-"

She gasped and stepped back, regarding him disbelievingly. His fingers were still around her wrist, the steady pound of blood so arousing that he couldn't bring himself to let go.

"Is that what you think this is?" she whispered. "Is that what you think this has been about?"

Yes, he wanted to say, you said it yourself, _jealousy_ - but then the look on her face, startled and tender and hurt but almost laughing, like there was some cosmic mix-up, and it would be funny a few years from now (five?).

"Oh, Castle," she sighed, stepping into him again.

He wished she wouldn't do that; he couldn't think straight with the angles and planes of her body pressed into his. Still, his arm found its way around her waist, curved there against his better judgment. He sighed into her ear, wishing he could make this last. Just her touch. Just the touch of her against him. How he needed it.

She was nuzzling her mouth at his cheek. "Listen to me. It's not about settling a score. Thinking of you with her - it made me jealous, yeah, but mostly it made me realize how much..." Her voice trailed off, and he wondered if she was gathering her courage. "How much I wanted it for myself," she finished quietly. "You. How much I want you."

He was holding his breath; he could hardly dare to believe her.

She kissed him again, but this time it was soft, so gentle; it was her lips, her tongue adoring his mouth, stroking it so slowly he thought he might combust. He parted his lips, letting her in, relishing every second of it, her faint exhales, the low humming that he thought he could hear thrum at the back of her throat; she was just so - _divine._

Kate Beckett.

She paused, their noses brushing together, her forehead against his; he could feel her smile.

"Castle," she said, her voice so rich, filled to the brim, gorgeous. "How about you make love to me, here and now, in this time?"

Yes, yes, he wanted to say, wanted it so badly, but the words tangled in his throat.

So he let his fingers on the zipper of her dress be his answer.

* * *

So good.

Her body vibrated against him.

He felt so good.

They hadn't even made it to her bed, standing up in the hall as his hands worked her dress off of her.

This was so _very_ good.

She clutched the arm around her waist, tried to catch her breath.

She would never let him go.

* * *

"Kate," he murmured at her nape, his lips hot and still, unmoving.

He thought he could feel her body stir, rousing again at the sound of his voice, and he couldn't keep his lips from curling into a smile. How responsive she was, how soft, liquid in his arms.

And he did that to her, didn't he?

It was him.

All him.

He heard the long breath that she drew in, felt her shift in his arms; when her face finally turned to him, the semi-darkness couldn't conceal her flushed cheeks, the blood still pulsing along the white column of her neck.

And she was still wearing the heels, too, so tall and sexy against him; she only had to lean in to fuse their mouths together. Her tongue darted out to tease and he groaned, kissed her back, long and deep, losing himself in it.

Oh, she was so hot, beautiful and smart and snarky, his Beckett; he couldn't believe that she wanted him - here and now.

"Lose the shirt, Castle," she said against his lips, and he grinned, absolutely thrilled to hear the confidence in her voice, the command. And even as she took back control from him, her eyes deadly, a warning and a siren song both, he didn't care. He couldn't care.

No matter how she played this tomorrow morning, this was still Kate Beckett.

He was never going to give up on this.

He would wait for her to realize - this was everything.

This was their future.

* * *

"Stay," he murmured and she paused at the sound of his voice, surprised he was awake.

"I'll be right back," she said in response, brushing her thumb over the still-closed lid of his eye. She felt his lashes flutter in response and she grinned, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

Beckett slid from her bed and shivered, searched for something to wear. She ignored his dress shirt slung over the chair beside her bed and went for her closet. She found an NYPD shirt on the floor, then pulled on some sweats as well.

When she got to the kitchen, she could already smell it.

Their dinner. Uneaten dinner. A little crispy from warming in the oven.

She grabbed potholders and opened the oven door, then slid the casserole dish out, turned off the warmer. She waved an oven mitt over the casserole, as if she could cool it off, but she realized it was her own face that was flushed, her body still hot.

Forget dinner. It wasn't ruined, but Castle had been right. This wasn't her.

Beckett shoved it into the sink to deal with later, stalked to her fridge to see what she could grab for them. She bent over to get at a bag of carrots, gasped when she felt the heated, solid presence at her back.

His arm went around her waist, his hand curling at her hip, pressing her back into him. "Midnight snack?"

"It's only nine," she murmured, standing up again but not moving out of his arms. She let the cool air of the refrigerator wash over her flaming cheeks. She wasn't embarrassed; she was aroused. She could do this. . .all night.

His mouth nibbled at her neck. "We skipped dinner."

She grinned slowly, humming into the devouring touch of his mouth, and then turned in his arms, the fridge door slamming shut as she pushed herself up on her toes against his body.

"I had my meal," she said, lifting her eyes to him, smiling slowly.

"That's hot," he panted, crashing into her mouth with a graceless kiss that was more heat and need than anything else.

And she liked it. She _loved_ it.

* * *

Castle ate crackers in her bed, let her shove a thin slice of cheese into his mouth with a roll of her eyes. She had a wicked looking knife that she used to carve the block of Colby, and she kept grinning at him as he brushed crumbs out of her sheets.

"Don't worry about it, Castle," she murmured, closing her fingers around his wrist mid-swipe. "Sheets will have to be washed in the morning anyway."

Damn, she was hot. Did he say she was hot? She was amazingly, eye-openingly, agonizingly _hot._

He took the slice of cheese she held out to him, topped it on a cracker, pushed it into his mouth. He was starving and she had her side pressed into him as they sat up against her headboard. Every movement of her body made him twitch, like he was sixteen and wondering how far he could go with his date - and just the wondering alone was doing it for him.

She turned her head and eyed him, as if she _knew_ he was trying to figure out how to cop a feel while she fed him cheese and crackers.

But then her face turned serious and her fingers stilled over the block of cheese. She wrapped it back in its plastic sleeve, turned and placed it on her bedside table, knife clattering down as well. He followed her lead, pushed the box of saltines onto the floor, came back to deal with whatever it was he saw in her gaze.

"What comes after this?" she said, chewing on her lower lip.

_I marry you._

But he didn't say it.

Even though he knew she was thinking it too. And maybe that was the problem.

"Take it as it comes," he said, lifting his hand to brush her hair back from her face. It stuck to her neck, sweaty, and he leaned down to lick the salt at her skin, felt her suck in a gasp, her hand curled at his ear.

"Think - think we're doing a pretty good job with _coming_," she huffed against the top of his head. Castle paused, his lips at her neck, a hand sliding up and down her ribs.

He laughed and pulled back to look at her. "Who suspected? Detective Beckett talks dirty," he grinned, but that was seriously hot as well. Had he said, yet, how very _hot_ she was?

"You like it," she stated, and her mouth sought his, her tongue skirting his lips.

Before he could push her back down to her bed, she was breaking away, her hand firm against his jaw even as her fingers stroked his skin.

"Still. What do we do now, Castle?"

He blinked as he stared at her, his mind filled with visions from his overactive imagination, all the things he not only wanted to do to her, but all the things he wanted to have with her as well.

A life.

And then he knew what to say; he knew what came next.

"Come with me to the Hamptons for Memorial Day."

She blinked, obviously not what she was expecting. But maybe exactly what she could handle.

"For the weekend?"

He nodded. "It's a few weeks off, I know. But we go every year, beginning of summer thing. I want you there with me this year."

She was still staring at him, and her lower lip was getting masticated by her teeth, but he waited for her to figure it out. Whatever she wanted to do. Still, he decided to nudge.

"It'll be fun. Relaxing. You deserve a break, Kate, so come with me. It can be whatever you want it to be."

When he said her name, her face cleared and he felt the twitch of her hand against his thigh.

"Okay," she murmured, and then her voice strengthened. "Yes. I'll come with you to the Hamptons."


End file.
